On the West Wind Sails the Gull
by NekoMegami-chan
Summary: Sequel to Landslide. Elladan must soon depart for Valinor, and Elrohir is leaving with him. Yet Legolas is too severely injured to accompany them and only newly reunited with Elrohir. Caution: The plot thickens with more angst and adventure to come!
1. Chp I A Morning in Imladris

Hello everyone and welcome to my latest fic! For those of you who are just joining us, this story is the continuation of Landslide which can be read at either fanfiction.net or the Library of Moria @ www.libraryofmoria.com. I really suggest reading Landslide before reading this sequel. I also suggest reviewing! ^.^ 

Also for people new to my writing, I would like to assure you that I remain closely with LoTR book cannon with very little taken from the movies. While the movies are indeed wonderful, and among my favourite films of all time (ORLANDO BLOOM!!), I simply prefer the depth of the books. As such, I attempt at all times to make my writing consistent with the style and tone of Tolkien's original work. Thus, although I am an American (and PROUD of it, baby!) British spellings will be used.

Disclaimer: Yes! Of course I own The Lord of the Rings! In paperback and hardcover! However, I do not own any of the characters, settings or intellectual property of our dearly esteemed Professor J.R.R. Tolkien. So please, don't sue! (Especially not Mary Sue! *shudder*)

Warnings: Just the usual. Blood, violence, mild swearing, ANGST! and slash (male/male themes). 

Sorry…too much espresso…now, on with the story!

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By NekoMegami_chan

nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com

            Imladris awoke blanketed in a crisp layer of new snow. The clouds, now devoid of their heavy burden, had drifted away during the night to leave the sky a frigid blue. No wind disturbed the leaves of the hedges and trees in the gardens.  

Chickens fluttered and clucked in the hen house. In the stable, the horses grunted and pawed, demanding their morning feed. A disgruntled young maid yawned into the back of her sleeve and began her day by lighting the main stove and sending the kitchen boy to fetch a few logs from the woodpile. 

Erestor watched the world beyond his balcony churn slowly into motion. He nursed a hot mug of spiced cider in his hands, letting the warmth seep into his long fingers. Being an elf he was highly resilient to the biting cold, though the creamy skin over his cheeks and nose had turned the colour of spring Roses mere moments after he had stepped outside. 

Glorfindel joined him silently, cradling a cup of his own. They often began their days together and frequently Elrond joined them, though he was not present this morning. It had been their policy for centuries to discuss naught of affairs of state ere they had finished their breakfast. It was a practice that Glorfindel was known to remark upon as being the cornerstone of his continued grip on sanity.

Leaning back against the rail and crossing his ankles, Erestor sought out Glrorfindel's gaze. The Balrog Slayer simply inclined his head and sipped from his mug, inviting his friend to speak his mind. 

"I shall miss the twins dearly," Erestor sighed. "They have been such a part of my life for so long that I do not know how I ever got along without them. When they chose not to accompany their mother to the west, I came to believe that they would be among the last to depart the shores of Arda."

"I too will feel their absence keenly," Glorfindel said thoughtfully. "Yet you know as well as I that it is in their best interests to leave. The sea longing is not an affliction to be easily set aside."

Erestor nodded sagely. "Aye, nor should it be." 

They fell into a comfortable silence whilst they finished their cider, each elf perusing his private thoughts. Erestor was the first to rouse himself. Setting aside his cup, he approached Glorfindel and unobtrusively began to weave several small braids into the Elda's long locks, tying simple knots at the end to keep the plaits from unravelling. When he had finished he gently lifted the ceramic mug from Glorfindel's fingers and stood patiently while the favour was returned. 

On the days when other matters prevented Elrond from their morning rituals the Lord of Imladris was sure to appear in creased robes and a circlet upon his head, his dark hair gleaming and brushed straight but unadorned by the braids signifying his rank. While all of them were perfectly capable of dressing themselves yet the companionship maintained by caring for one another was sorely needed. With no significant females in the household Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor had adapted centuries ago to living their immortal lives in one another's company.

When his own hair had been tightly braided and pulled back from his face and ears, Erestor stepped back to admire his work. Glorfindel was dressed smartly in a tunic of emerald green wool and a deerskin waistcoat of a darker green. Thick grey wool leggings and tall, soft leather boots covered the lower half of his body. "You are riding with the patrol today?" Erestor asked, though there was little question in his tone.

"Aye. Though I would prefer to tarry around in the healing house another day, I must not ignore my duties," the blonde Elda affirmed. "And you? You intend to spend the day working in your office?"

"As you say, there is much that has gone undone these last days," the raven haired advisor smiled. "Perhaps you will return in time to join us all for a few glasses of mulled wine after the evening meal?"

Glorfindel only nodded noncommittally and excused himself, his mind already making plans for the patrol as he threaded his way through the Last Homely House and towards the stable yard.

            Erestor watched him go, hardly eager to seclude himself in his study and begin the various tasks that awaited him there. Yet just as he was turning to do so, movement among the distant trees bordering Imladris caught his eye. Anxious to know if the approaching riders were friend or foe, Erestor leaned over the balcony railing, squinting past the glare of the sun on snow.

            A familiar figure at the fore raised a hand in greeting. Erestor grinned and laughed merrily. Estel had come home to Rivendell!

* * *

King Elessar of Gondor dismounted his tall gelding stiffly. He was bundled tightly against the winter cold and the extra layers of cloth and leather hindered his usually fluid movements. Behind him his escort - a hand selected group of thirty-two men - followed his lead through they gawked at the white shrouded beauty of the Elven realm.

Aragorn cast about for the nearest soldier and pressed the reins of his gelding firmly into the other man's gloved hand. He was not surprised to see Glorfindel striding over the snow towards him, dressed for the morning patrol, but he was taken aback by the fact that the Elda remained at Imladris. Had they given up the search for Legolas so soon? 

One of the escort took in a sharp breath and exclaimed, "What trickery is this that he walks upon the snow?"

"No trickery, it is the way of Elves," the king interjected, his words cutting through the astonished murmurs that had broken out among his men. "Mae govanen Glorfindel, mellon-nin!"

"Well met, Estel," Glorfindel shook the man's hand and drawing him into a firm embrace. "It is good to see you again." The Elda paused, feeling the taught muscles of Aragorn's body, and released him. "Is all well with you? What brings you here in such dismal travelling weather?"

            Erestor's silvery laugh ran through the courtyard like moonbeams on water as he ran lightly up to the group gathered in the snow, his long blue robes fluttering around his slender legs. "I sent for him, of course! Who better to help us search than the High King of Gondor?" 

Noticing the agonized expression on Estel's face, Erestor placed a comforting hand on the other's shoulder. "Peace Estel! Alas, you were too slow to be of much use after all. The prince was found the night before last and lies even now in the Healing House," Erestor said, adopting the strict tone he had used when the young human had been tardy to lessons. 

Aragorn felt a huge burden lift from his shoulders. "I shall like to see Legolas as soon as provision has been made for my men and horses," he said. 

Glorfindel clasped Estel's forearm and nodded. "Tell them to come with me," he instructed. "I was just on my way to the paddock to meet my patrol. The stable master can take charge of their care."

            Elessar turned and swiftly issued commands to his weary escort. He had pushed them hard over their journey to Imladris, waking them all well before dawn this morning and continuing their exhaustive march at first light.

As the men were walking towards the barns, a booming voice issuing from beyond the trees caused Aragorn to spin around. "I told you, Elf! I do not need your guidance! I have visited this realm before and I am perfectly capable of…" Gimli broke into the clearing and stopped dead in his tracks, his complaint melting away. "Aragorn?" 

"Aye, 'tis me friend Gimli! Good day to you!" the king of Gondor smiled. He glanced briefly at Erestor, who remained at his side. "Your doing also, I assume?"

"You are correct," Erestor replied, as he had many times during Estel's tutelage. 

Gimli had trudged up to them, his stout form chest deep in the snow. Six other dwarves accompanied him and their elven guide simply bowed quickly to Erestor before vanishing back into the woods. "Why are you all standing about? Legolas is…"

"In bed, where he ought to be," Aragorn interrupted. "And I was on my way to see him. Would you care to accompany me while your companions go with mine to find a hot meal?"

One of the other dwarves spoke up loudly. "Which way to the kitchens? I assume that even elves must have a few fried eggs about?" 

"I am quite sure that sufficient provision can be made to satisfy even the greatest of appetites. You will find my Lord Elrond to be a gracious host indeed!" Erestor, ever the diplomat, bowed and extended his hand in an elegant sweeping gesture. "This way if you please?" The dwarves muttered and trundled after Erestor.

Aragorn suppressed a hearty laugh and clapped Gimli around the shoulders. "Then all is settled. Let us go! Legolas awaits!"

* * *

That's it for this chapter! I hope everyone enjoyed and intends on reviewing on their way out! I know, I'm shameless.

In any case this chapter was fun to write because it came so quickly and easily, that's why I'm a few days ahead of schedule with this update. In any case, this chapter was only the beginning and a bit slow. I had originally intended to have more going on, but that will just have to wait until the next post.

            Thanks for reading and check back soon for another chapter. Maybe 4 days? No promises though. ^-^


	2. Chp II In Which There are Reunions

I can see that this fic is already off to a great start! All of the favourable reviews have inspired me to begin writing right away.  
  
On the West Wind Sails the Gull  
  
By NekoMegami_chan  
Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com  
  
Thranduil watched from the window of his tower guest rooms as King Elessar, Estel to the Elves and Aragorn to his friends entered the courtyard far below. The son of Oropher was not pleased. While he felt a grudging respect for the human king as a member of the Fellowship; the personal affairs of the Elves were not the concern of Men. For surely this was more than a courtly visit; as Elessar brought some thirty heavily armed guards and no baggage train.  
  
Resigned to the mortal's presence in Rivendell, Thranduil turned from the window. Yet ere he could draw the heavy velvet curtains back into place he witnessed the arrival of a small party of dwarves.  
  
"What scandal!" Thranduil shouted, turning away from the now covered window in disgust. "What outrage!"  
  
Of all of Legolas' inappropriate relationships, it was his son's friendship with the dwarf that caused Thranduil the greatest displeasure. He had publicly denied the rumours for years and now the vile, stunted creature had mustered the audacity to appear at the prince's sickbed.  
  
Such an affront was utterly intolerable!  
  
Furious, Thranduil turned to glare about the well furnished apartment that had been given to him for the remainder of his stay in Imladris, searching for an object upon which to vent his wrath. The large, canopied bed was the first to come into his sight. It was decorated by a coverlet of green and gold embroidery and the dark wood of the four posts was carved into the image of gnarled trees. Tapestries depicting forest life during each of the four seasons hung from the walls. A gleaming vanity with a crystal wash basin stood in one corner, close enough that the fire from the hearth would warm the water and the clothes stored within its drawers. The room was truly lovely and despite his inclinations to do otherwise, Thranduil could not bring himself to destroy any of it.  
  
Instead he buckled on his sword belt and unsheathed the weapon. Steadying his breathing, he began the precise drills he preformed every morning and night. He had always found the peace his hot temper would have him forsake within the rigorous confines of his chosen discipline. His mind became steady and pliant under the swift undulations of his body, loosing the unyielding binds he placed upon himself at all other times.  
  
Once he had finished and regained control of his anger, Thranduil would seek out Elrond and request that the dwarves be sent away. He could not suggest that the Man be turned out, as the human was actually Elrond's son by marriage. However, he would demand that Legolas be removed to these rooms until recovered.  
  
His plans firmly anchored, Thranduil slid his sword back into the scabbard and drew himself up to his full height. In moments he had left the rooms, his boot heels clicking ever so softly as he descended the spiral staircase.  
  
* * *  
  
Elrond greeted Aragorn and Gimli with a smile just outside the entrance to the Healing House. The Lord of Rivendell had been notified of their arrival only moments before as he had emerged, hoping that a brisk walk might sweep clear his cluttered thoughts. "Estel, welcome home. And Master Gimli, how fare you this day?"  
  
Aragorn inclined his head respectfully but said nothing. Gimli bowed slightly though his eyes remained pointedly on the door behind Elrond. "Well enough, Lord Elrond. Yet it is Prince Legolas' health that is of interest to me."  
  
"Aye, and to me," Aragorn spoke up.  
  
Having anticipated this, Elrond stepped aside and held open the door but stopped them with a glance. "I have only just sent the twins to fetch breakfast and tea for us all and they will not be long. Also, be warned that Legolas is still weak; do not tire him overmuch with questions of his ordeal."  
  
Gimli nodded absently. Anxious to see his friend, the dwarf did not even bother to shake the clumps of snow from his boots before entering the building. It was only the darker interior of the Healing House that reminded him to remove his helm.  
  
Aragorn would have been at the dwarf's heels had Elrond not so quickly interposed. "I must speak to you now, not as a father to a son, but as one Healer to another. Legolas' condition does not wholly please me."  
  
"How so?" Elessar felt a familiar knot of tension gather in the pit of his stomach. He set his shoulders and willed it firmly away.  
  
"His left hip was shattered when we found him. He walked several leagues with the aid of a tree branch and the stress on the broken bones did far more damage than the initial injury could have ever caused. While I was more or less able to coax the fragments back into place, the swelling was quite severe and has only now begun to abate."  
  
Elrond paused and considered his next words carefully and they were softly spoken when they came. Despite his often brusque attitude with the prince and his antics, the lord had wordlessly accepted Legolas into his life a century ago. "I fear I was not as successful as I had hoped. I believe it will be necessary to break his hip again and reset the bones in order that they may heal more naturally," he cringed inwardly at the naked expression of sympathetic pain on his son's face. "I should appreciate your help in this. I cannot ask the others."  
  
Aragorn squared his jaw and nodded once. "When?"  
  
"I am of the opinion that there is much more going on than any of us but Mithrandir is aware of. I would have the entire household gather for the morning meal. After the conversation has died down, I shall ask Elladan and Elrohir to gather fresh athleas from the greenhouse on the far side of the gardens. We must do it then."  
  
"Aye." Elessar smoothly changed the topic as he entered the Healing House, Elrond half a pace behind him. "Gandalf is here then?"  
  
* * *  
  
Gimli approached Legolas' bedside as quietly as he could, though for once he was keenly aware of the harsh metallic clank of his armour and the grinding of the chain mail beneath. His hobnailed boots echoed loudly on the gleaming wooden floor. Yet far more disturbing than the noise he made, was the fact that Legolas' sleeping form did not stir.  
  
Seating himself on the low stool at the elf's elbow, Gimli studied his sleeping friend closely. It was as Elrond had forewarned them. Legolas' usually creamy skin had gone as white as the sheets beneath him; the only colour that remained was the pale flush that lit the high cheekbones. Curiously, the vibrant blue eyes were closed and even in sleep they bore small lines of pain at the edges.  
  
At first, Gimli had found it unsettling that the elf slept with the bright orbs staring vacantly ahead. Yet after having grown accustomed to the immortal's odd habits, this change in them merely deepened his worry.  
  
Gimli set aside his helm and took Legolas' hand in his. "Fool elf!" he muttered, though his gruff voice held little conviction. "Can I not leave you for so much as a single season ere you land your skinny hide into mischief?"  
  
"It seems not, master Dwarf," Legolas whispered, blinking as his slowly focusing gaze took in Gimli's weathered countenance.  
  
"Then perhaps I should teach you how better to defend yourself!" the dwarf laughed heartily as relief swept through him. If Legolas was well enough to engage him thus, there was little he need fear any longer.  
  
* * *  
  
Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading and I'll try to get the next update by Saturday evening. ;)  
  
Oh! By the way, does everyone want me to continue to email them when I update? If so, please let me know either via review or email and I will put you on my update notification list. Thanks! 


	3. Chp III Of Breakfasts and Healings

            Hello everyone! Thank you for all of your kind reviews! The positive feedback doesn't just stroke my ego or make me write faster, it also makes me a better writer by helping me to know what you like. Of course, if there's anything you don't like, please let me know. In any case, we're only three chapters into this story and I'm enjoying it even more than the last one! It has an unexpected PLOT COMPLICATION! Muwahaha!

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

 Chapter III

By NekoMegami_chan

Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com

            The twins returned from their errand practically on Estel's heels. Elrohir and Elladan joyously greeted their brother with an abundance of cheerful words and, after hastily setting aside the laden trays, an equal number of embraces. 

            Legolas laughed merrily at the sight, and Gimli rose from his stool to regard them with keen eyes. Elrond felt the weight of the last days lifted away. 

            "Forgive me for not gaining my feet to greet you properly," Legolas called from the bed, gesturing to his prone form with good humour, "however, I am regretfully indisposed. Come, let us take our ease over a hot meal and hear tell of your journeys, Aragorn and Gimli."

Breakfast was a simple affair. Conversation remained light and smiles were exchanged freely. Mithrandir joined those gathered in the Healing House and entertained them by manipulating the hearth fire so that pixies appeared; frolicking among the blazing logs, playing at hide and seek.  

            Elrohir sat at Legolas' elbow. So engrossed was he in helping the wounded prince to swallow a few spoonfuls of a mild chicken broth, that he barely noticed Estel taking up a chair beside him. 

            "You also need to eat," Estel said, setting a plate of bread and honeyed butter on Elrohir's lap. "You are thinner than I remember you; and paler also."

            Legolas frowned slightly, the wizard's words still at the forefront of his thoughts. He had been selfish in allowing Elrohir to tend to him so faithfully when his own body's needs had been ignored. "He is right, Elrohir. You must not fuss over me when you too are not in full health."

            Elrohir began to protest, only to have Estel shove a spoonful of porridge into his open mouth. Without further argument, Elrohir quickly complied by taking a generous bite of toast. He nearly groaned that the exquisite taste of the warm toast and its sweet, sticky topping. Now fully aware of his hunger he began to eat with a gusto and relish that would have put a Hobbit to shame – a fact that Gimli was quick to point out with a hearty chuckle.

            When the food was gone, and the trays, plates and silverware stacked neatly on one table to be later removed by a servant, Mithrandir stood and set his tea cup aside. "If you will all please excuse an old man, I would fancy a walk before it begins to snow again. Elladan, would you care to accompany me?" 

            After receiving a reassuring nod from his twin, Elladan rose and gathered up his cloak from the rack beside the door. "I would be delighted to, Mithrandir," he said. Elladan could not remember a time when he had not gained in wisdom from walking with the wizard and never missed an opportunity to do so. 

            Elrond turned to Elrohir when they had gone. "I have run out of fresh athelas. Please go to the greenhouse on the west lawn and bring back some cuttings."

            "I should prefer to remain with Legolas," Elrohir nearly reminded his father that his every moment with his love was as precious as the first breath of spring, yet he bit back his hasty words and instead sought to pass the chore on to someone else. "Father, I would very much prefer to remain here. Perhaps you could order one of your apprentice healers to fetch it…"

            Elrond shook his head. "I dismissed them all yesterday in order that I might care for Legolas personally. Now go." 

The Lord of Imladris' tone booked no further argument. Elrohir schooled his features into a carefully blank expression, rather than scowl as fiercely as he was inclined. He kissed Legolas tenderly upon the forehead before exiting the Healing House at a fast walk. 

Elrond, Aragorn and Gimli were silent for a moment. Legolas spoke quickly, "There is something going on here that I am only half aware of. I feel it. You all keep secrets from me." He carefully scrutinized the others. "Gimli?"

"On my journey here, two of my companions were slain by orcs. We were ambushed just before dawn four days ago. We killed many, yet were harried until we reached the boarders of this realm," Gimli admitted. 

Aragorn's expression grew grim. "I too encountered the foul creatures. My party took no casualties, but for the pack horse carrying our tents and extra rations. The orcs fell back quickly after their initial strike. I would have thought it to be mere coincidence that they ever came upon us, 'til they obviously sought to draw us into a trap. Their retreat was far too strategic." The ranger turned king sat back in his chair. "That was just yesterday morning. We had seen sign of their passing for several days prior, though thought little of it."

Elrond's eyes hardened and his lips tightened into a thin line. "The pattern is clear. Members of the fellowship have been targeted. Doubtless Mithrandir is already aware of this. We must warn the Halflings. Ere the hour has passed I will order a contingent of soldiers to travel to the Shire. They will watch over the Hobbits until we have found who is behind this."

Gimli growled in frustration. "Whoever is behind this cannot be very smart. Did they believe the members of the Fellowship so easily dispatched? Did they not think that we would be wise to their strategies?"

Legolas shook his head. His stare, which had been fixed upon the ceiling beams, found the dwarf's. "It is not so simple as that. This new threat seeks only to make his intentions known to us." Legolas paused for breath and when he spoke again his voice was noticeably weaker. He was tiring. "While it was an avalanche which caused my injuries, it was an orc attack which began the snow's decent. They knew where I would be when I crossed the mountains; a fact which leads me to the conclusion that our unknown enemy has been intercepting our correspondence."

While the human and the dwarf pondered the wisdom in Legolas' words and the consequences of his revelations, Elrond rose and moved to the prince's side. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"My mind remains sharp, yet my body is heavy and distant. I expect that the tea I drank with breakfast was treated?"

"Aye," Elrond affirmed. He turned to Estel and Gimli. "It is time. Elrohir will not be away much longer."

            The king of Gondor hurried to Elrond's elbow and pulled back the bedclothes from Legolas' body. "I beg your pardon, Legolas. My lord Elrond has informed me that your condition is unsatisfactory. We have conferred and find it is necessary that your hip be re-broken in order to speed your healing."

            "And you did not wish Elrohir to be present. I understand. I do not desire to upset him any further," Legolas said with sincere thankfulness.

            Gimli knocked over his stool in his haste to stand in protest. "What is the meaning of this?"

            Elrond gently pulled aside the blonde elf prince's night robe to expose the swollen and discoloured flesh. "If Legolas wishes to spend the remainder of his immortal days without a pronounced limp, we must set the bones more naturally. Gimli, I must have my full concentration and Legolas will need your help."

            Seeing the wisdom in Elrond's words, the dwarf took up a firm stance. "How may I be of assistance?"

            "Hold his hand and do not let go," Elrond directed, vaguely aware that Gimli did so without hesitation. 

            Legolas smiled gently up at his friend. "You look as if you were the patient, Master Dwarf! Your face is as pale as any elf-maiden's – if significantly more hairy!"

            Gimli opened his mouth to reply when there came a resounding crack, swiftly followed by a second, and a third. Legolas' features contorted in pain and the prince cried out, a breathy moan that forced its way past his lips. The slender hand in his tightened like a vice; sweat gathered on the elf's fair brow.

            All Gimli could see were two dark heads bent together on the other side of his friend's body. Elrond and Aragorn spoke softly and hurriedly. Then a final grating of bone on bone reached his ears, a disturbing sound which made Gimli's insides clench in sympathy.

            The healers sat back on their heels and Aragorn passed a hand down his face. Legolas' agonized panting echoed through the nearly empty room. Elrond spilled his healing energies into the prince, encouraging the abused joint to maintain its new position.

Gently, his fingers shaking more than he would have thought possible, Gimli petted the elf's head, smoothing back the sunlight locks in a soothing gesture. Legolas was his dearest friend, a loyal companion who had ever presented himself as a pillar of strength; a comfort when no comfort seemed possible. Gimli prayed with feverish sincerity that his meagre actions would be enough. 

            "Legolas!" Elrohir cried from the open doorway. Panic reared up in his throat and he clutched the athleas cuttings to his chest, crushing them as he sprinted to Legolas' side. Squeezing past the dwarf, Elrohir cupped his beloved's cheek.

            The scent of the athleas brought the prince some measure of awareness beyond the pain, and he found the strength to open his heavy eyelids. "All is well, Elrohir. Only – stay with me a moment." Legolas took a few deep breaths before continuing. "The others have spoken their minds. I would have you do so as well, ere I take my rest again."

            Elrohir looked to his father, who nodded. "Estel, Master Dwarf," Elrond inclined his graceful hand to each. "You have journeyed hard and there is much yet to discuss. Please refresh yourselves in the chambers which have been prepared for you. I wish for you to join me in my study at your earliest convenience." The lord of Imladris left at once, his robes a storm of red silk about his ankles. 

* * *

I'm sorry this chapter was so late in coming! I've had a lot on my mind recently. In any case, I still didn't get in everything I had planned, but let me say this. There will be the long awaited Gimli-Thranduil confrontation next chapter! 

And as always, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! Thanks! ^_^


	4. Chp IV Of Confrontations

            Hello! It seems that everyone is more interested in the upcoming Gimli/Thranduil confrontation than they were in the last chapter! Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'm just thrilled that everyone is still enjoying this fic enough to review. And so, without further ado…

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By NekoMegami_chan

Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com

            The halls of Imladris were a brightly coloured blur of winter sunlight and highly polished oak panelling as Elrond entered the North wing. His study was here, as were those belonging to his sons and advisors; all of which encircled the great library. Yet it was at the open door to Erestor's offices that he feet took him. 

            Inside, Erestor's ebony head was bent low over the wide desk which occupied the majority of the room. Elrond was reluctant to disturb him. While his advisor had once been a fierce warrior, his place was now here with his scrolls. "Never mind that, old friend. I have another matter that needs your attentions."

            Erestor did not keep his lord waiting, but rather set aside his quill and joined Elrond in the corridor. He smiled, his elegant mouth turning up at the corners. "I might have known better than to expect any work to be completed today." He sobered when Elrond showed no sign of amusement. "And here I had been quite sure that the worst was behind us. Your orders, Lord Elrond?"

            "I will explain shortly. Send for Thranduil and have him escorted to my sturdy at once. Mithrandir and Elladan are walking; you will need to locate them as well. Estel and Master Gimli will arrive in a few moments. Elrohir will remain with Legolas."

            Erestor bowed slightly. He turned, yet ere he had taken more than a few paces, Elrond's voice came after him. "Your presence will be required as well. I feel much in need of your patient counsel. A new threat would bury its fangs in our throats."

* * *

Though reluctant to leave Legolas, Gimli turned and followed Aragorn out of the Healing House and into the manor proper. He knew that his friend would be looked after; Elrohir would see to that. The heartfelt dedication of the other elf was easy to see.

Gimli fell further into his thoughts as he quickened his pace around a corner in order to keep up with the long strides of the man. Legolas had always been extremely private in regard to his life beyond the Fellowship. While he spoke often of his homeland, Gimli could count the number of times he had mentioned his lover on a single hand. On those rare occasions when the elf did, there appeared an expression in the opal eyes which he could not quite give name to. However, simply recalling it aroused feelings of sadness and regret in him.

After ascending a short flight of wide carpeted stairs, Gimli parted company from Aragorn to enter the apartment in which he had stayed upon his previous visit to Imladris. Spacious and well furnished to the tastes of the elves every chair, bedstead, and tables were of a dwarvish height. Rich jewel tones permeated the rooms, making the satin and silk drapes and bedclothes shimmer in the sharp winter sunlight.

The dwarves who had travelled with him were smoking their pipes near the open window or examining the craftsmanship of the furniture with critical eyes. It was a welcome diversion from their grief, friends had been lost and the pain was still close at their heels. A brief greeting and a chorus of grudging affirmation as to the suitability of the elves' hospitality was enough to assure Gimli that he would not be missed for several hours. Although the dwarves had been given the run of Imladris, all agreed that it would be wiser to remain in their guest quarters until supper.

Gimli found his bag among those of his companions on the low table in the centre room. He changed into fresh breeches and a tunic with his family crest embroidered on the shoulder. He hurriedly scrubbed his face and hands in the bathroom washbasin, patted down his hair then exited once more into the hall. 

Aragorn had not yet finished his own refreshment and the dwarf settled back against one ornate wall, thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Moments later he was ripped from his darkening musings by the sound of padded footfalls. An elf appeared, beautiful, proud and tall. He was dressed in silver and green and white. His luminous blonde mane lay against his back like golden spider's silk. Had it not been for the steady step and the fierce set of this elf's brow, Gimli might have believed that it was indeed Legolas who stalked towards him now. It could be none other than Thranduil, King of Greenwood and Legolas' father. Gimli pushed away from the wall, casting down his eyes to afford the regal elf a measure of respect as he passed. 

Yet Thranduil did not pass. Drawing even with Gimli, he regarded the dwarf with a baleful glare. "You know who I am." 

"Aye," Gimli met Thranduil's stare unflinchingly. "Although why you approach thus, Your Highness," still wary, he fought valiantly to keep the sneer from his voice as he spoke the last, "I have no ken."

"Then I shall be succinct, dwarf. There is no love lost between us. Therefore neither should there be fond words." Gimli bristled at the King's flippant and haughty tone but did not interrupt. Thranduil continued, slowly as if he were giving his orders to a half-wit. "Know this. My son is like a gem your orcish picks will never scratch; as far beyond your reach as any star in the night sky. I will not stand to see you corrupt him by filling his head with your mortal filth. Consider your acquaintance with him terminated as of this moment." 

Gimli's ire rose and all previous thoughts of respect for the king's position fled. "Your son is grown, well able to care for himself and choose his own friends, mortal or otherwise. It was similar petty sentiments which led to the consuming hatred between our peoples. I will overlook your transgressions this time Thranduil, King of Elves, but not again."

Thranduil's icy countenance melted and was swiftly replaced by a boiling rage. "It seems your impertinence knows no bounds, nor does your foolishness." 

Gimli's voice rose to a shout, filling the corridor. "Thrice you have insulted me, Thranduil! Have you no honour? And such a trespass as that, without proper apology, is just cause for retribution. Alas that you are Legolas' kin; else I would not hesitate to raise my hand against you!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Aragorn burst from his chambers, flinging the doors wide. He swept between the elf and dwarf, his anger evident on his rough-shaven face. "This reprehensible behaviour is more suited to a tavern than the halls of my father, and it hardly befits either one of you!"

Thranduil moth shut with an audible click of his teeth, his eyes like flaming arrows as he observed both Man and Dwarf. Though when he spoke his words were for Aragorn, his gaze was locked with Gimli's. "I have said my peace. I expect my wishes will be obeyed. As soon as my son is well enough to be transported by litter, I intend to depart from this place. And you, dwarf, had best stay out of my sight, lest the consequences prove to be more than you can handle."

Furious at the open threat, Gimli remained still only by the warning pressure of Aragorn's hand on his shoulder. The man wanted to scream. Thranduil was a good king and a good father. Yet centuries of loss and hardship had hardened his heart to all but Legolas' kindness and love. The precious gems and coffers of gold he had gathered were unworthy of his concern. Even his beloved forest home failed to bring him comfort. The elven king feared to loose his son above all else, and his fear made him a terrible ally to cross. 

Only once previously had he seen Thranduil livid - only once and in his youth. It had taken Legolas three days of patient counsel with his father to set matters straight. Yet now Legolas lay in the healing house, his body broken and too weak to confront Thranduil. The King of Men was not eager to take that burden upon his own shoulders; yet he knew that Thranduil's aid may prove to be vital in their quest for the unnamed threat which awaited the living members of the Fellowship, and perhaps all of Middle Earth. The numbers of the elves was dwindling rapidly, and a single warrior may mark the line between victory and death. 

Aragorn's grip on Gimli's shoulder tightened as the King of Greenwood turned sharply on his heel and nearly knocked down the unsuspecting Erestor. The raven-haired elf sidestepped in a graceful movement that instantly reminded Aragorn that his lifelong tutor, friend and scholar had once been a highly respected swordsman. "Pardon me, Your Highness," he apologized reflexively.

Tension hung thick in the air, no one stirred. A moment's scrutiny of the scene enacted in front of the guest rooms was enough for the advisor to guess what had happened. Thranduil's protective streak had gotten the better of him again. His arms crossed inside the voluminous sleeves of his robe, his face sober and unlined, Erestor delivered his message. "Elrond, Mithrandir and Elladan await us in My Lord's study. Come, there is much we must discuss."

* * *

            In a sprawling and brightly-lit mansion, within sight of the white towers of Minas Tirith, a sinister figured swallowed the last of a glass of brandy and smiled. "The power of the Heir is without question. All will tremble and perish on their knees before his might. Though the ring was destroyed, the Dark Lord was not without foresight. The Fellowship will suffer."

* * *

            Sorry this chapter took as long as it did. It's always something, isn't it? So I won't make any excuses except to say that I just broke up with my boyfriend and I simply haven't had the time nor the will to write. But please, send me your reviews and let me know if you liked this chapter. I hope that the long-awaited confrontation was worth the delay! Oh, and did anyone like the first glance at the bad guy?


	5. Chp V The Counsel ofthe Wise

I am astonished at the number of wonderful and, might I add, helpful reviews. I'm truly glad that so many people are enjoying my work. Let me know if there is anything I can do to make it better!

Once again, I'm sorry that this chapter took as long as it did. For financial reasons, I was forced to transfer colleges at the last minute. Almost literally. I had only one day in which to go through the exit process at my previous school and get admitted to the new one! Phew, at least now I'm in classes and moving forward again. Good news though! I'm taking fewer academic credits than previously planned, so (hopefully crosses fingers) I will have more time to write. I make no promises, however – but I'll do my best!

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By looked up from where he was tending the brazier which heated his office as Thranduil swept in. The elven king had all of the force of a summer squall, though he was possessed of an icy demeanour which may have frozen water. Mithrandir followed; his grey eyes were sharp and his weathered face was set firmly in thought. Gimli was afire with barely restrained anger. Estel was on clearly on edge. His entire body spoke of unease and he declined to sit, instead choosing an almost defensive position with his back to the wall. Elladan and Erestor were in deep conversation, their dark heads bent close together as they spoke in hushed voices.

Silence settled quickly, thick and heavy like marsh fog. The room seemed to grow dim with it, the rich reds and browns of Elrond's finely woven carpets becoming muted and dull. Yet Elrond took his time breaking the oppressive atmosphere. Gracefully he paced the length of his scroll shelves and the bookcase that housed the ledgers and memoirs of an Age. He made a full circuit of his study, pausing only briefly to glance at the portrait of his beloved wife, her gentle countenance smiling benevolently back at him.

When Elrond took his place before the hastily assembled counsel, his mind was clear and focused. He was pleased to note that Thranduil had managed to recover his personal restraint once more, as had the dwarf. He raised a single brow, and though he was not surprised to notice that their ire so obviously directed at one another, he would have them remember that now was not the time for quarrels between those who were supposed to be allies.

The Lord of Imladris launched into the briefing he had prepared. The abrupt sound of his voice brought all eyes and ears upon him in an instant. He summarized the events of the past few days, and recounted Legolas' earlier revelations. "This new enemy knows that to destroy the Fellowship is to destroy the hope of the world."

Aragorn rested one hand on the hilt of his sword. "Then there is to be another war?"

Elrond shook his head. "I believe that another war can be avoided. The peace which was created with the fall of Mordor is as fragile as a newborn babe. To subject the peoples of Middle Earth to more bloodshed is to aid the enemy."

"Then what do you propose we do?" Thranduil asked, and for once there was no anger in his words, only a genuine uncertainty.

"I have already sent a contingent of warriors to protect the hobbits, especially the Ring-bearer. They were instructed to disguise themselves as pilgrims traveling to the Grey Havens and taking their ease for a season in the Shire. I would send messengers to Faramir, Gladriel and Arwen, informing them of the situation if not for the great risk of doing so." Elrond said, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robe. "However, the course of action which we must now take lies in shadow. A threat is growing and I feel that it is not far off."

Gimli tugged at his beard. "That is precisely our problem! We have no way of knowing who is behind the attacks on the Fellowship," the dwarf stalwartly ignored Thranduil's dark stare and continued without pause, "and he has proven that he has the ability to disrupt our correspondence."

"Yes, but what to do? Defining the facts we already know is useless!" Elladan exclaimed.

Mithrandir placed one gnarled hand on Elladan's shoulder. "There may be much to learn, if all have the patience to listen. Let Master Gimli finish," the ancient wizard advised.

With a slight nod of gratitude for Gandalf, Gimli went to stand before the small counsel. "We know that the enemy controls orcs, and that they seek to kill, not to capture. Also, they 'ave yet to launch a concentrated or frontal assault – meaning that they want to maintain secrecy. Perhaps the threat which comes upon us now is in some way related to Sauron!"

Incredulous murmurs broke out; Aragorn shook his head fiercely, dark hair obscuring his unshaven face. "No! It is not possible! The One Ring was destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom!" Elrond, Elladan, and even Thranduil echoed the human King's sentiments.

"Is it really so hard to believe," Mithrandir's calm voice sliced through the heated murmurs, "that one with such power and possessed of such cunning as Sauron would have thought to make provision for his evil to live on? It is true that the Ring was cast into Mount Doom, and it is true that with it, the Dark Lord perished. And while he would never have shared his power with another, as Saruman discovered, perhaps he created an heir in order that he might yet exist in another way?"

The room was quiet once more as the wizard's words penetrated minds. Finally, Elrond gave a curt nod. "Very well, then. How do you propose we go about discovering the identity of this heir, if indeed, he is as you say?"

"That," Mithrandir said with a smile. "I do not know."

Erestor's smooth features twisted into a frown. "Alas that such misfortune should befall us so close to the departure of the twins!" Aragorn and Gimli agreed.

"Aye, it is most unfortunate," Elladan sighed. Then he stood and his expression was sombre. "However, I have decided to remain in Arda until all has been set to rights."

Elrond shook his head. "Until Middle Earth is no more than a withered husk, dry and barren and without life; until all that the wind touches is ash and chaff, there will be evil. It is the balance of the world. Evil can never be fully eradicated, which is why there must always be heroes to do battle with it." Elrond looked fondly down at his son. "And that is why this battle will be left up to other heroes, Elladan. You will begin your journey in a fortnight, as planned."

"Nay father!" Elladan cried, surging to his feet. "That is what you told me when the others prepared to leave with the Ring-bearer! I would have gone; I wanted to! Arda is my home and I would happily give my life to protect it. I felt like a coward staying here, patrolling and getting into minor skirmishes whenever orcs got too close to our boarders of those of our allies! And now you want me to take my brother over the sea and abandon…"

Mithrandir cut him off, "Are you quite finished?" he asked.

"I am not," Elladan replied, though he had managed to check his temper between one breath and the next. "I have not yet convinced my father…"

"Nor will you. The Lord of Imladris is rarely wrong and even more rarely does he change his mind." Everyone in the room spun to face the door but the wizard, who continued to sit as if nothing remarkable had happened. Legolas rested in the open portal, leaning heavily on the thick oak frame and a cane Elrond recognized as having been kept in the Healing House. He wore loose trousers, an open robe and slippers. Sweat shone on his forehead and his every breath was audible, catching slightly in his throat. The wounded elf's face was grim, belying his cheerful tone. "But what is this I hear about the twins leaving?"

Thranduil was already at his son's side, and Legolas gratefully allowed his father to half carry him to the most comfortable chair in the room. The king fussed over Legolas, reprimanding him for his irresponsible behaviour while bringing a cushioned footstool underneath the prince's heels.

Elrond looked down his nose at Legolas, "This is precisely why we did not tell you." Aragorn laughed. He felt a little sorry for his friend, having been the recipient of that same demanding stare on more than one occasion himself. "It is _not_ amusing, Estel. Else I have highly overestimated your sense of duty as a healer."

Aragorn stopped laughing.

Gimli was holding Legolas' hand, having completely forgotten the elven king's earlier warning. "What were you thinking? What if you've undone all of Lord Elrond's work?" he asked, fingers hovering uncertainly over Legolas' hip. "You should have stayed in bed!"

Legolas, who had been somewhat amused at all of the attention his father and his friend were lavishing upon him, was suddenly angry. Angry in a quiet way which burned hotly in his eyes. "I am not a child to be left behind when important doings are happening under my very nose! And now I find that the one I love has been lying to me with every breath! There is danger in Middle Earth again; Elladan and Elrohir will pass into the west and while I am powerless to prevent it, I will not lie idle."

"Yes, that is exactly what you will do!" Thranduil said. "I have heard enough of your foolishness! You were honourably wounded in battle, and by the grace of the Valar you live. I refuse to loose you to your own pride," he spoke the last with forceful sincerity.

Ere the prince could reply, a shout resounded from the hall. "Legolas!" There came a pause and then a darkly clad body burst into the Elrond's study. "Father! Legolas has vanished! He asked me to fetch him a…Legolas!" Elrohir caught sight of his errant lover as Gimli hastily stepped aside.

"Hello Elohir," Legolas smiled. "I was hoping you would decide to join us."

**x x x**

The Heir of Sauron sheathed his practice sword and tossed it to a waiting attendant. He cut a youthful figure, lean and sleek as a well-bread colt. As he walked from the field, long muscles rippled beneath earth coloured leggings. Leggings now stained black with the blood of the pathetic orc messenger who had brought him displeasing news. It would not be long before his tireless efforts came to fruition, and incompetent minions would not be tolerated any longer.

Well, that's all for this chapter! Please let me know what you think, okay? There wasn't a whole lot of action in this last chapter and I want to know if anyone's getting bored yet. If so, please hang on just a little longer!

Coming soon:

Things come to a boiling point in Elrond's household!

AND

Everyone departs for the Grey Havens!

PLUS

Who the hell /is/ this mystery bad guy? Shocking new developments are on their way!

So tune in next time for more of "On the West Wind Sails the Gull"

(Sorry! Don't know what came over me there! Please don't base your review on that last part!)


	6. Chp VI The Counsel Continues

Yippie! Thanks to all of you who read and reviewed! I really appreciate your continued support of this fic. I feel like every comment and criticism helps to make me a better writer. Also helping is the fact that I'm taking a creative writing class at my college! So hopefully that will give me a few new ideas.

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

Chapter 6

Ere tempers could be rekindled, Gimli tactfully diverted the rebuke which Legolas had been about to deliver. He bent close to the elf's ear and whispered; though his dwarven voice was nonetheless heard by all. "You're not youeself, lad! Say nothing more on the matter, for such things are best discussed in private!" Legolas wisely chose not to pursue the issue further.

Relief washed over Elrohir. Grateful for the reprieve, he accepted the chair his brother offered, though he continued to study Legolas' face. Elrohir keenly felt the need to speak with his beloved, to seek forgiveness and reassurance. Recent events had left him painfully aware of long buried insecurities.

Mithrandir pulled himself up with the aid of his staff and smiled humourlessly at the small counsel. "Well," he said, "Now that everyone has arrived, might I suggest that we return to the reason for which we gathered?" When no one raised their voice, the wizard continued. "I will leave with all haste to find out what I may about the nature of our mysterious aggressor. I suggest that we all keep our wits about us. Vigilance is our best ally."

"Aye," King Elessar agreed. "I shall let my men rest this day, and then set out at dawn tomorrow. I think it best that I increase the guard throughout Gondor and encourage Rohan to do the same. I will also send out spies into the city and beyond to the ruins of Mordor, Isengard and the lands of the Easterlings. We must learn all that we can, and quickly."

Thranduil placed an elegant hand upon Legolas' sound shoulder; though it was Elrond whom he respectfully addressed. "I must admit that I am greatly torn," the King said. Yet his face revealed little of his professed inner struggle. "My people wander among the forest, healing it and helping to purge the last of the mirk. Yet with this new gathering of shadow, I fear that the spiders and other evils which yet remain may make a final stand. They will have need of their King. Still, I do not wish to leave Legolas in your able care when you must tend to your own children's departure. Are there not any means by which he may be safely returned to my own household?"

Elrond did not answer immediately but cast his gaze to the young lovers. He spied the smouldering coals of ire in Legolas' eyes as they ignited once more. The prince's jaw clenched as he bit back a sharp response. Elrohir was subdued and far from his habitually youthful demeanour. He seemed somehow to have lost his natural buoyancy, as if the grief that had so nearly claimed him still stalked close behind.

In that instant, Elrond's mind was set. Even if he had to spend his eternity with a grudge wielding Thranduil, he was suddenly determined to provide Legolas and Elrohir with as much happiness as possible. "No," he said simply. "There is not. However, Legolas is no burden, not by any means. He is welcome to remain until he is fit to travel." Elrond diligently ignored the barely contained resentment the wounded prince radiated. Legolas disliked nothing so much as being spoken of as if he were not present. "Besides, I should be glad for his company as I too, will be staying here." Elrond took Elladan and Elrohir's hands in his. "There can be no help for it. Once more I must fulfil my duty to my people before that to my family. Peace, my sons! My heart goes with you both, though my body must wait a while longer to join you."

Elladan nodded in understanding as Elrond released their hands. Elrohir sighed inaudibly, though his father's course of action was not unexpected. Thus had passed much of their lives in the Last Homely House; a similar incident had once prompted the twins to make a name for themselves as orc hunters in hopes of occupying a larger portion of their sire's attentions.

Gandalf spoke up saying, "We are of an accord, then? Each knows his part and that of his fellows, so let there be no confusion. Communicate as little as possible. What messages and news you do send, do so discreetly and take no unnecessary risks. We will convene here again on the first day of spring, provided that there have been no significant new developments. And now, farewell." With that the white wizard departed.

All but for Legolas rose and the chairs were left like so many tapestry-covered tree stumps growing from the embroidered carpet. Elrond retired to his desk and Erestor joined him, knowing that his lord would require his counsel. Aragorn politely excused himself, citing the need to inform his company of their new orders.

"Legolas has fallen asleep," Gimli announced quietly. Or rather, he had finally succumbed to exhaustion and the potent medicinal herbs that had been administered earlier. Indeed, the aquamarine eyes were closed and golden lashes hid the dark circles beneath.

Thranduil turned to the twins, "Will you please send for servants to carry him back to the House of Healing?" he asked with only slightly forced civility. He did not even acknowledge the continued presence of the dwarf.

Elladan shook his head. "We'll carry him."

Elrohir gazed lovingly down at the top of Legolas' sun-touched head. "And we will put him up in his regular suite in the family wing. I don't think he likes being so far distant from the rest of us."

Thranduil chose not to argue and instead followed Elrond's children as they carried his own son, armchair and all to his usual quarters. The king was careful not to be impressed by the generous yet unpretentious rooms which rivalled the ones belonging to him in the Greenwood. It was clear that much effort had been made to tailor the apartment to Legolas' personal tastes. The atmosphere would have been quite relaxing, had not the loud breathing and ogre-like footfalls of the dwarf been rasping in his ears.

Legolas made a soft noise of distress and clenched his hands into fists as the twins gently lifted him onto the bed. With his anger and his pride both subdued by the honesty of sleep, the prince could no longer maintain the tenuous control over his wounded body. Thranduil stared openly as Gimli stroked Legolas' hair soothingly until the pain had passed, whispering comforting words – some of them in a heavily accented yet nonetheless accurate Sindarin! While the gesture was undoubtedly paternal, the dwarf was not patronizing. Blood rose in Thranduil's cheeks and the elf king did not tarry long.

Night stole over Arda, clear and cold. Elrond watched the familiar stars emerge from the darkening sky. His warm breath clouded the window glass and obscured the snow-laden courtyard below.

His heart was heavy though his resolve was firmly set. His greatest desire was to accompany his sons, but his duty lay with his people, especially in such a time of danger. Precious few elves yet dwelt in Imladris and those who remained would be in need of his leadership and protection. Elrond signed and turned away from the window.

Erestor smiled in gentle concern when his lord finally noticed his return. He doubted that Elrond had noticed his departure, more than an hour previous. "Are you well Elrond? You look horrible."

Elrond placed an arm around the taller elf's shoulders. "Thank you, Erestor. You are a true friend."

"In all seriousness, my Lord, the last days have been especially trying on all of us. Glorfindel has returned. Come, let us join him in my rooms for a glass of wine. There is a small favour which I would ask of you."

**x x x **

He was not a particularly tall man, and though he was lean and hard of muscle, not unattractive. His dark hair was clipped short and the high boned, aristocratic face was without beard or moustache. He wore a simple uniform of dark leather and finely woven cloth; the only adornments which betrayed his rank were a black mithril pendant bearing his personal insignia and the circlet on his head.

The Heir of Sauron studied the map of Minas Tirith which sprawled over an entire wall of the mansion's War Room. The flawlessly detailed diagram had taken nearly a year to complete. Human servants had daily disguised themselves as simple peasant artisans in order to enter the capital of Gondor. There they had explored the city, painting and sketching every building, alley and sewer.

One man of particular skill had even duped the idiotic and unsuspecting King Elessar into commission his services as a muralist within the very walls of the palace! Of course, the enterprising man had been promoted with all haste, an example of obedience and loyalty ought not to go unnoticed by others.

As the Heir stood contemplating the map and committing it to memory, the sound of knuckles connecting with flesh caught his attention. He turned to see three guards approaching, a semi-conscious figure bound and suspended between two of them. Blood spattered the floor in their wake.

"My Lord," spake the leader, a captain, as he dropped to one knee. "If it pleases you, we have captured an elf – a messenger for the host of Mirkwood. The missive he carried is, I believe, of great import to you, My Lord."

The elf groaned through split lips, yet managed to lift his golden head to spit at the feet of the Heir. "May the good earth spew you out like the vile vomit you are!" he croaked in the common tongue.

The captain rose and backhanded his helpless prisoner. "I only regret that I cannot kill you twice, elf!" he snarled. "Still, you had best watch your mouth unless you desire to be turned into an orc! You are in the presence of His Majesty, the Heir of Sauron, the Dark Lord Saberon!"

** x x x**

Glorfindel had already poured the wine and delivered the crystal glasses into thankful hands ere words of greeting had been exchanged. "Erestor has already informed me of the details of your counsel," the Eldar said without preamble, as he took up his customary place near the mantle. "I believe that there were good decisions made all around."

Erestor swallowed his wine and looked at his friend, a pensive expression on his handsome face, his dark brows knitted together. "Save for Legolas' decision to attend. I don't dare to think what may have happened, had he fallen or otherwise caused himself further injury.."

Elrond paused in his personal musings. "He is no different from the way we all were at that age. He has seen much death, it is true, but he still believes that his immortality makes him immune from lasting harm."

"That is undoubtedly so," Glorfindel murmured, swirling the wine in his glass. "Yet more than that, he is in love, and that lends him a new degree of imagined invulnerability."

"You had a favour to ask?" Elrond inquired, deftly steering the subject in another direction. He was too tired for such talk this night.

"I do," Erestor replied. "I would ask your permission to accompany the twins to the west." The advisor laughed at seeing the anxious reactions of his friends. "Nay, I am not leaving for the Grey Havens! I will not yet set eyes upon the sea." Erestor sobered and shook his head. "It is only that, though your children are grown, I do not think that this is a journey to be made alone. Elrond, I believe that I speak also for Glorfindel when I tell you that Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen have been – to us- the sons and daughter of our hearts."

The quiet Eldar smiled earnestly. "Yes, I feel that way also. It has been my greatest joy to share in the lives of you and your family, Elrond."

The lord of Imladris felt unexpected tears spring to his eyes. Erestor and Glorfindel had been considered family for centuries and he would never regret granting this request, only that he must stay behind. "Of course you may go with them Erestor." Elrond nodded, his voice somewhat lacking of its usual power and strength.

Sensing that their lord had reached the very limits of his endurance, Glorfindel abandoned his wine glass, and Erestor his seat and both elves warmly embraced Elrond, their dearest friend.

**x x x **

Well, what do you know? That chapter actually had some closure in it! But it also opened up a whole new can of worms! It was pretty long, too. At first I intended to leave off after the "bad guy" segment and leave the scene at the end for the next chapter – but I just had to get it in! As it is, I'm still a bit uncertain if the organization of the chapter was easy to follow. Would anyone mind please letting me know your thoughts on that in you review?


	7. Chp VII In Which There are Many Partings

            Hello again and welcome to chapter seven! Truth be told, I'm not sure how many more there are to go as my planning seems to have gone awry. Originally I had intended for the first part of the story, Landslide, to be a mere three chapters. It ended up being (as you may recall) a grand total of thirteen. Admittedly, those chapters were an average of five hundred words shorter than the ones I've been churning out for On the West Wind Sails the Gull but it was still significantly longer than expected. I fear the same is to be with this, the second half of the story. Let's just suffice it to say that this fic is likely to go on for quite a while longer yet. That is, as long as people continue to be interested. If I'm taking too long to get to the good stuff, let me know in your review. To be honest I'm using it as a sort of practice for a novel I intend to write. Like a marathon runner, I'm teaching myself to "go the distance" and actually finish a long project.

Oh! And I actually have a WARNING for this chapter! There's a fairly descriptive /torture/ scene near the end. This fic is finally earning its R content rating. 

            Do I bore you all with my pre-chapter comments? Or does everyone just skip my stupid ramblings with the thought "hurry up and get to the yummy Elf-angst!" I'll do just that, I don't want to keep people waiting…

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By NekoMegami_chan 

Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com

Chapter VII

            King Elessar of Gondor shook lank curls back from his face, flinging half melted snow from the dark locks, and entered the barracks. It was a functional building which nevertheless retained the elegant simplicity of the Elves who had built it. The windows were made of thick glass and draped with simple green cloth. Oil lamps held by iron sconces shaped like the branches of trees lined the walls between the low cots. The narrow beds were covered with thick woollen blankets and were turned down invitingly. It was warm and dry, as comfortable of lodgings the weary soldiers could ask. His men were sleeping or eating at the table laid out in the mess hall, which Elessar could see through the open doorway to his left. Others reclined near the hearth, trading oft-repeated tales of valour in battle and families at home.

All noticed he had entered, and they rose, gathering to greet their king with respect. When he had their full attention, Elessar spoke loudly enough for the soldiers to hear. "Eat well and take as much rest as you may but be prepared to leave tomorrow at first light. Prince Legolas of the Greenwood is safe and recovering with Lord Elrond's care. Yet a new threat has been uncovered. We must make haste to return to our own country." As no questions where forthcoming the king dismissed the soldiers only to walk among them, the warrior king. He went about clapping backs and inquiring as to the health and well-being of each, as was his custom. Nevertheless, thoughts of the hearty supper among old friends that awaited him so filled his mind that he nearly missed the low comment made behind his back.

            "All this way though the snow and the orcs and for what? To save some irresponsible elf-prince who didn't even need our help…" the speaker was abruptly cut off by an angry whisper. 

            "'Ye know better than that, you fool! Prince Legolas was one of the Nine Walkers; a hero! An' if I were you, I wouldn't be sayin' such treacherous things with the good King 'imself in this very hall!"

            A sullen silence ensued. Elessar acted as if he had taken no notice and let the man's ignorance slide past him like so much harmless driftwood in a river. He had recognized the voices, and while he had chosen the dissenting soldier on the recommendation of his captain, he marked the young man's behaviour. He would consider carefully before selecting his next assignment. The other had been Danor, son of Darmor, a worthy man who had served the Stewards of Gondor for nearly all of his now fading youth. 

            Somewhat disheartened, Elessar bade his men a good night and took his leave of them. Yet as he stepped back into the thickening darkness, he could not suppress the disturbing feeling that perhaps he had not been needed here. The feeling grew as he walked and he wondered if the attempted assassination of Legolas had not been the mysterious and subtle enemy's full and true intent, but rather his friend's subsequent disappearance. Was it meant to draw them all to Imladris? If so, to what purpose? There was no sign of an attack being staged and Glorfindel's party would have alerted them to such a danger. It was possible that there was more to the puzzle that even the wise minds of the day's counsel had overlooked. He was certain that he must push himself and his men to the limit, and that they much reach Minas Tirith before there was no more time to act. 

* * * 

            Aragorn rose long before the sun, dressing quickly and leaving the previous day's beard on his chin to ward out the winter chill. When he entered the Hall of Fire he found Elrond, Elladan, Glorfindel and Erestor as he had left them the night before. They greeted him as cheerfully as the early hour permitted and warm drinks and food were brought. They breakfasted generously yet few words were exchanged. As the sky lightened away through the Eastern windows, the remainder of the household began to stir.

            "I wish to say my farewells to Elrohir, Legolas and Gimli ere I depart, for I must do so within the hour," Aragorn announced as he pushed his plate away.

            "Master Gimli sleeps still among his fellows, I believe. But I do not doubt that Elrohir has spent the night in the chair at Legolas' side once again," Elrond said. "Nevertheless, what of your farewells to a forgotten foster father?" He chided with a good humoured smile.

* * *    

Elrohir opened the door before Aragorn had even raised his fist to knock; a favourite trick of the twins. "For a Man raised among Elves you are quite loud, Estel," Elrohir taunted.  

"He's right, you realize. We might have mistaken you for Gimli if he were not here already," Legolas stated matter-of-factly from the bed. He was supported by an ample supply of pillows and his sleek hair spilled over the ivory linen. His chest was bare, revealing fading yellow bruises and scabs from his lesser injuries. The arm that had been broken was still tightly wrapped but there was colour in his skin once more. 

"You look well," Aragorn said truthfully. 

Gimli nodded. "I was just saying the same." 

Legolas only inclined his head in thanks for his friend's concern and let Elrohir take his hand unobtrusively. His love had slept beside him all through the night, their differences resolved in shared dreams. It was to those restful hours that followed to which Legolas attributed his strength this morning; and for a brief moment he ached with his longing for the physical union which held the power to deepen their bond. None of his desire was evident to the mortals in the room and Legolas smiled warmly at his friends, setting his private thoughts aside. "Gimli tells me you are going. Is this true? After all, one can never be sure of the news of Dwarves." He remembered, though not with his usual clarity, the counsel the day before. And while he knew from his own recollections that this was so, Legolas could not pass up the opportunity to tease his dear friends. 

Sputtering past his beard, Gimli returned, "More reliable is the news of the Dwarves than the yes and no answers of crazy Elves!" he paused, then glanced sheepishly at Elrohir. "Your pardon…"

The son of Elrond laughed, "No offence taken, Master Gimli. I have often wondered as to the sanity of my own race on more than one occasion. One tends to do so when one's twin is Elladan and one's sister is wed to a human…"

Aragorn joined in their laughter, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. He was reluctant to stand, though he knew he must. Outside the morning dawned slowly, grey and ominous clouds gathering low on the horizon. His men were assembling in the white courtyard below; huddling against the oilcloth wrapped legs and blanketed flanks of their mounts, bending their backs to the wind which blew down from the North. They would not make good time this day. 

Elrohir noticed his foster brother's expression and took him by the hand. "I nearly forgot! I wish to bestow a gift upon you. Have no fear, for it will not take long." 

Gimli watched in amazement as Elrohir's eyes grew vague, as if he suddenly slept. Just as he thought to ask Legolas what manner of gift was being given, the ebony haired Elf began to shimmer as though a great heat surrounded him. Elrohir spoke, his ancient voice ringing like fine gold beneath the smith's careful hammer. It cost him no effort to discern the Elvish words and it was then that the Dwarf was reminded that this was indeed the grandchild of the fair Galadriel, whom he greatly admired. "Arwen will give birth to a son. He will be as fair as his mother and as strong as his father. He will rule his people kindly, and the land will prosper as under no king before him. And he will strengthen the blood of the line of your fathers unto the end of the Earth. Though this child shall not be your last." 

Elrohir came back to himself and embraced his human brother tightly. "Farewell, Estel. Go with my love."

Aragorn returned the gesture, gratitude and tears warring in his grey eyes. "Thank you, Elrohir. I have already spoken with Elladan. Please know that I will miss you greatly, and I will never forget all that the two of you have done for me, for those memories reside in my heart." He then began to weep, knowing that he would never see his brothers again, yet thankful for a lifetime of love and care. 

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable Gimli averted his eyes from the scene. "You are not unwelcome here Gimli, nor has your presence been forgotten. You have been named Elf-friend; you are family," Legolas quietly assured him. 

            Brushing the tears from Estel's sun-touched cheeks, Elrohir smiled comfortingly though his heart throbbed fiercely in his chest. He had feared this day of partings since the tiny mortal babe had been placed in his arms. He also knew that painful partings were best kept short.  "You must go now. May the Valar protect you and guide your steps," he said by way of a blessing.

            Aragorn nodded and bent over the bed to kiss Legolas on the forehead. "Be safe, my friend. Heal swiftly and I shall see you soon. My house is always open to you." 

            The prince clasped his friend's arm in parting, "I shall remember that. Take care until we meet again."

            Gimli slid off the bed and threw his arms around the human's waist. "Good-bye, lad!" he exclaimed before stepping away again. 

            "Good-bye to you, Master Dwarf," Aragorn replied with a pat on Gimli's shoulder ere he made his way to the door. "May all go well with you," he said and then strode off down the hall and out of sight.

* * *

It was not dark. It was not damp or cold or any of the usual things that dungeons where. No rats crawled over dirty piles of straw and while there were no windows, light spilled forth from ample lamps, leaving no shadowed corners in which the wretched might hide themselves. The stone walls were smooth, featureless and pale, though stained pink with the blood of the many victims it had housed. Unbreakable mithril shackles were spaced throughout the cells, bright and shining with strength. Yet dominating each room in the dungeon were the huge racks on which hung the gory tools of the torturer's hideous art. In contrast to the sterile façade of the cells, the steel implements bore gruesome witness to their frequent use; most remained dulled with caking blood and scraps of flesh. 

            Lord Saberon crossed his legs and sipped a dark wine. He was comfortably seated in a simple wooden chair, watching as the Elf messenger was carved like a spring lamb. He smiled, pleased with his servants and pleased with himself. He had been ruthless as a Man and that was why the previous Dark Lord had chosen him from among the elite of the Easterlings, made him the heir and scooped out what remained of his soul. Though he had remained in stasis for nearly half a century, unseeing and untouched by time, he had awakened with the destruction of the One Ring. As Sauron was destroyed, all that had been the Dark Lord rushed through air and steel and stone and into the void which had been prepared within him. As a human he might have turned away in disgust to see what he now calmly observed.

The Elf's body had been broken long ago. Even an immortal could not withstand the skill of the Master of the Dungeons. As it stood, the Master had exhausted what limited useful information could be dragged from the Greenwood messenger and now it was merely play, a spectacle for the Dark Lord's entertainment. Saberon drained his crystal glass and waved the Master aside. He walked into the fresh puddle of blood on the floor and reached out to pet the Elf's face. "You have done well," he murmured running his fingers over the broken nose, the bruised lips and cheeks. 

            "Are…going to," the messenger paused to cough and gasp, the effort of speaking even those few words was almost too much for him. He had been speaking in his native tongue though the syllables were nearly slurred past recognition.

            "Am I what?" Saberon asked kindly. He could afford to be patient. 

            The Elf's eyes fluttered, trying to open and to focus. "Turn me…to an orc?" 

            Saberon threw back his head and laughed. "And why would I do such a thing? What need have I for another mindless brute? No, you have served me well, in the end." He bowed mockingly. "I commend your spirit to Mandos and perhaps your dirty soul will find entrance at her Gates. Though I know I should not take you, for your traitorous tongue was loosed easily enough by a little pain!" With that he ended the Elf's life with a simple twist and left the cell behind, climbing the wide steps to where his supper awaited. 

Behind him, the white face was frozen in a mask of terrified horror. Silently, the spectral form of Mandos wept and gathered the tattered soul into a comforting embrace.

* * *

Woah! Much, much darker than I ever intended! Was anyone offended? I sure hope not! I just want everyone to know that this is no trite and contrived bad guy! He's really evil!! Let me know what you think, okay? If no one liked this chapter, tell me and I'll do my best to fix it…I think it turned out kinda good now that I look at it…

p.s. At the end of the next chapter (which is already started) I will take the time to reply to everyone's comments individually. It's been quite a while since I did that, and I think all of you nice people deserve it.


	8. Chp VIII Of Chance Meetings, Battles and...

Well, here 'ya go! Chapter eight has arrived. I'm glad the last one went over as well as it did. Does everyone like the addition of the individual chapter titles? I thought it might be useful for anyone who gets lost or wants to go back and re-read a specific part of the story.

A lot goes on in this chapter and very little of it has to do with our beloved elves. I'm not very confident in my ability to write action scenes, so I'd really like some comments on how I can improve that aspect of it because there is going to be some larger-scale fighting later in the story. 

In any case, Enjoy!!

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By NekoMegami_chan

Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com

Chapter VIII

Of Chance Meetings, Battles, and Hope

            Gandalf sat astride the great horse Shadowfax and gazed out over Buckland and beyond to where the low outline of the shire was silhouetted against the land. From his vantage point atop a hill in the Old Forrest, he could see smoke floating up from the chimneys of the hobbit holes and squat brick buildings. Hairy brown hogs were tiny spots on in distant farmer's pens. On the frozen shallows of the Brandywine young and adventurous hobbits, many of them Brandybucks and Tooks, bound their feet in bandages to slide along the thick ice with much shouting and waving of arms.

            The wizard was exhausted and cold, though his weather-beaten face was firmly set. There were no signs of anything amiss, and for the briefest of moments, his burdens seemed a little lighter. He had gone a full day out of his way to satisfy his concern for the hobbits. Any Evil which would try so brutally to destroy the living members of the Fellowship would certainly seek its most malevolent revenge against the Ring bearer himself. Despite Elrond's precautions and the Elven soldiers, Gandalf had worried for Frodo's safety as he had not in years. Gandalf let a little sign of relief spill past his thin lips, knowing that the delay of coming so far west had been worth his while.

            With the fall of Mordor and the rise of Gondor, the old roads had found their purpose restored. Trade now moved freely and much to the surprise of its humble inhabitants, the Bree-land had become a blossoming crossroads. Travellers came now in such numbers that kind-hearted old Butterbur, the same bumbling innkeeper who had aided Frodo at the beginning of his journey, had been forced to add a wing to the _Prancing Pony_. 

            And so Gandalf had gone to Bree, to watch and to listen. For three days he spoke to travellers, many of them merchants from. He heard much that disturbed him – little things of an insidious nature. Tales were told of Men on the roads, riding swiftly under a strange livery and who spoke with authority; though they would not say whom it was they served. What troubled him more was the reputed character of these men. It was said that while the mysterious servants of the unknown lord were fair to look upon, riding sleek horses and bearing fine arms; they were without even the basest courtesies, often abusing any which displeased them. They moved alone and in small numbers, though never more than a dozen, and their intentions were rarely clear.

            There were other stories, told in the safety and bright comfort of the _Pony's common room; stories of orcs carrying off livestock and making a general nuisance of themselves. A few had even been seen lurking about the boarders of the Greenway and the along the edges of the Barrow Downs. The foul bests showed almost no organization as yet, and were little more than a consternation to the folks of the Bree-land, who had thought their quiet corner of the world was past such dark times. When the conversation turned this way, Gandalf would take a puff off of his long stemmed pipe to hide his smile. He was happy that these gentle people had known so little of the darkness which had touched the rest of the world and he wished them well._

            Gandalf turned Shadowfax with a touch of his bony fingertips and turned to face the elf that had stealthily crept up beneath the sheltering trees. "Mae Govannen, Valandil. I must say it eases my mind to know one such as yourself patrols these boarders."

            "Ah, Mithrandir! How goes it with you?" the elf hailed back as he walked into the clearing. 

            Shadowfax shifted, regarding the newcomer with knowing eyes. "Not well. Dark rumours are abundant, though I would not speak of that here. This forest is known for its many ears," the wizard said, though he would have dearly liked to ask after the hobbits.

"Aye, indeed," Valandil agreed. "When I saw a figure on horseback mount this ridge I came at once. Yet these stubborn and gossipy trees would not tell me weather it was friend or foe and even attempted to hinder my way!" 

Gandalf nodded slightly. "I would not doubt that," he grumbled and pulled his cloak tighter. "I must be off again. Guard them well, Valandil for we all owe them much. Good-bye!" And with that, the white wizard whispered into Shadowfax' sharp ear and the pair disappeared into the forest. 

"And may the Valar go with you!" the elf murmured, though it was more of a prayer than a farewell.

* * *

            "Awake! To arms! Awake!" A frantic cry split through the night only to be drowned by the fierce roars of wargs and their orc riders. 

            King Elessar burst from his tent, his sword already in his hand; he slept with his boots on. All around him, men cast aside bed rolls and reached for their weapons while the foul beasts swarmed over the camp. The clang of Gondorian steel against Mordor iron was everywhere, punctuated the screams of the dying.

"To the King!" shouted Danor as the seasoned soldier followed his own orders. Aragorn quickly found himself flanked, his back protected. Together they fought on, dodging the deadly blades of the orcs and the equally dangerous teeth and claws of the wargs. Yet after three day's hard march and the fierce onslaught, even Aragorn tired quickly and the servants of darkness vastly outnumbered the forces of Gondor; perhaps by as many and six to one.

Desperation and despair ran rampant through the Men. Soldiers hacked their way through the twisted bodies of their attackers, only to have others rise up in their place. Aragorn knew not how the fell creatures had found them, for he had taken every precaution against discovery. The horses had been held at the centre of camp, blanketed and their manure covered with snow so as to mask their smell. He had permitted no fires despite the bone-aching cold. Thee company's scouts, including himself, had roamed far a-field and had seen no sign of anything more dangerous than rabbits. 

Aragorn stabbed at a passing warg, killing it almost instantly. Heaving the blade free he realized that he had been separated from his men and turned to wade back through the show to rejoin the fray. A movement to his left alerted him to the coming attack and he dodged, though with somewhat less than his normal grace; striking back instinctively. Yet it was no snarling orc that lay in his sword's path, but the pale face of a human soldier. Aragorn barely stayed his hand, appalled at what he had nearly done. Gulping down a deep breath of icy air he asked, "You are unhurt?" It was the dissenting man he had noticed in Imladris, Tanir.

The soldier nodded and his answering smiled turned sinister. "Aye, but you won't be for long – My Lord!" Tanir gave a short, barking laugh and thrust his sword towards Aragorn's belly. Not one to be taken down so easily, the king blocked flawlessly and stepped in to counter strike. With that move, their battle began in earnest.   
  


The orcs forgotten, the two combatants locked weapons and found themselves equally matched in strength. As they fought, Aragorn's mind was a seething mass of betrayal and anger such as he had rarely known. To have harboured a traitor amongst the stout hearts of his personal guard was a heavy blow to his reputation as a king and as a leader of Men. "You will pay for every life and limb which is sacrificed here tonight!" 

"Threats mean little, when one is dead!" Tanir exclaimed.

Enraged, Aragorn felt his exhausted body fill with energy and he redoubled his efforts. Blades clashed and fists met softer flesh. In the darkness of the night-time forest they were little more than shadows locked in constant motion. The screams of the wounded and dying were like horrible cheers in the distance, urging him on to victory…

It was not until the sad corpse of the youthful traitor was dead in the snow that Aragorn realized that he had lost control of his actions in the heat of battle. As his breath slowly returned to him, he hung his head in remorse. Even in the face of such gross betrayal, it had not been pleasurable to cut Tanir down. He turned away, no longer able to look at the boyish features, now slack in death. 

Back at the camp, those who could stand were tending to those who could not. Somehow his soldiers had found the reserves of strength necessary to defeat the orcs and their feral mounts, though only a handful of the brave souls under his command still drew breath. In all Aragorn counted seven, himself included. 

Danor greeted him, favouring one leg. "It is good to see you alive, My King," he said, genuine relief in his gruff voice. "When I turned to find you gone, I had feared you were lost." 

Aragorn clapped him on the shoulder. "I am well," he said reassuringly. Though even as he bent to see to the old soldier's leg, the various small wounds he had sustained pained him. As he worked he confided in Danor, a man he found increasingly invaluable. "The situation grows worse – there are spies and traitors among us. Tanir gave away our position this night. He lies yonder, dead by my hand."

Danor shook his head. "My apologies, Lord. I should have watched him more closely after his questionable remarks." 

"No blame lies with you; if any is to be had then it belongs to me alone. However, now is not the time to be assigning such things as guilt," Aragorn sighed. "Burn the bodies of the fallen, and take what rest you can. We'll drive the remaining horses; we can ride longer if we change mounts every few hours. I'll see to healing what wounds I can and construct litters for those who are unable to ride. We will continue to travel due south in the shelter of the mountains, and seek shelter at the first village we come to." 

"As you wish My Lord."

* * *

The days passed and excitement ran high. Despite the many preparations and the growing sense of danger, life in Imladris resumed its orderly routine. With the familiarity, spirits rose and the twins' mischievous nature manifested, as if they were simply readying for a holiday. 

             One overcast morning, a week before their scheduled departure, Legolas reclined on a bench, exchanging word puzzles with Gimli. Nearby Elladan and Elrohir played at hunting each other in turns between the trunks of pungent pine trees.

            Legolas plucked at the thick blankets covering him and smiled in amusement at his friend's futile attempts to guess the answer to his riddle. "Perhaps the heads of dwarves are thicker than I first imagined!" he taunted. 

            Gimli only grumbled something less than polite and continued to throw out guesses as to the answer of the riddle. As his mind worked, his hands did also; crafting a finely carved cane suitable for Legolas' use. "Where does one find a frog which is not always green, and which does not croak?" he repeated for the fourth time, as if knowing the conditions of the problem would miraculously produce the solution.

Legolas watched as Elladan approached Elrohir, unheard and unseen from behind. Suddenly Elrohir leapt away; bounding over the snow like a spring buck. Elladan was after him so quickly a mortal eye might have thought they moved in the same instant. The swifter of the two, Elladan caught up with his brother half way across the frozen lawn and sent them both rolling in an unseemly tangle of arms and legs and long raven hair. 

Blinking, Gimli took a moment to leave the riddle behind and follow Legolas' gaze. His fair friend was laughing, a bright and musical sound which brought joy to his heart. The elf's pale face was flushed with mirth as he watched his friend and lover wrestle as if they were wolf cubs. It was then that Gimli felt the cold, wet slap of a snowball thrown from close quarters hit the side of his face. 

* * *

Aside from more fighting coming up, would anyone like more detailed/graphic romance? This _is a slash story between Legolas and Elrohir, but it seems that in my attempt to stay as true to cannon as possible that perhaps I'm understating the romantic aspects of their relationship? Let me know what you think on this point and I'll do my best to write in a way that appeals to everyone! BTW, Does anyone know the answer to the riddle? First one to answer right gets a cookie!_

That reminds me! As promised here are my responses to all of you who so nicely continue to read and review this story. You are the force that compels me to come home and sit down to write after a long day of school, sports, and work. Thanks!

Stardust – You are so astute!! Yes, Gimli's accent turned out a bit more Scottish than intended. As you know, I try to stay as true to the book canon as possible but I feel that a lot of people tend to hear/see the movie characters in their mind's eye when reading. As a result, I tried to portray that in my writing – a failed experiment? Also, yes – Elrohir's prophetic abilities are mentioned, though he never invoked that power in previous chapters or in Landslide. Usually the ability manifests itself in dreams or vague feelings. The idea was to show how important the moment was by having him choose to use his gift. Thanks for reading!

Lady of Legolas – Thanks for all of your comments! You are a very emotional person, aren't you? I get a kick out of your reactions. And no, Saberon was not mentioned by name at the beginning of the story.

Moro the Wolf God – I laugh out loud every time I see one of your reviews. You're always so excited for the next chapter it seems! Maybe you have an automatic response ready "More Please! Hurry!" You really make me want to write fast!

Barbra Kennedy – I very much enjoy your sincerity and I look forward to your reviews. They get me thinking and thinking gets me writing! I hope that you continue to tell me what /you/ think – your opinions are really helpful. 

Renn – I'm glad you're hooked. And I hope you stay that way! My ego needs people like you! Thank you for reading and leaving so many reviews. I really appreciate it.

Also, I'd like to extend a special thanks to everyone who continues to read and review. Even though I couldn't reply to everyone, please know that your thoughts and opinions on this story are extremely important to me.

That's it for now. Please let me know what you think, okay? Thanks for reading!


	9. Chp IX The Mind of Evil and Interludes

Hello everyone!   
  
A cookie to Stardust60!! That wasn't the answer I was thinking of when I wrote the riddle, but it is correct! ^ ^ So kudos and that's what I get for trying to be smart! Actually, the answer to "Where does one find a frog which is not always green, and which does not croak," is "The underside of a horse's hoof!" There is a V shaped groove in a horses' foot called a frog and as we know, manure is green and a hoof can't croak. A bit obscure, I admit.  
  
**IMPORTANT!** The response to include more romance between Legolas and Elrohir was overwhelmingly positive. However, several people did express the opinion that the story is better off as is. As you know, I like to remain as canon as possible so here's how it's gonna work: There WILL be romance! However, it will be delicately written in Tolkien's style for love affairs – i.e. love will be expressed through words and actions and not "physical deeds." I know that's a bit vague but it will make sense when you read it. I sincerely hope that everyone will be happy with this and non slash readers will at least give the idea a try. If you really object to this decision one way or the other, let me know via review or email!  
  
Despite your wonderful reviews, I had a hard time up the energy to write these past two weeks. There's been a lot going on in my life (check my LiveJournal at www.livejournal.com/users/nekomegami_chan if you're interested in finding out exactly why I take so long to update!). I've also joined a Kingdom Hearts RPG at www.avidgamers.com/simplec and to be honest it's addicting. ^^ Sorry…  
  
I look forward to your comments! (I'm sick of saying "Please review!" It seems so trite…).  
  
On the West Wind Sails the Gull  
  
By NekoMegami_chan  
  
Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com  
  
Chapter IX  
  
The Mind of Evil and Interludes  
  
The city of Minas Tirith teemed with activity beneath a bright sky. Craftsman laboured in their shops while smithies gathered round their forges, bare-armed and sweating despite the frigid air outside. Merchants lit braziers and bartered with customers as they warmed their hands. The day's chores complete, children ran about and re-enacted battles from the War of the Ring in neighbourhood parks. Dwarves, the wares they had brought now sold, indulged in tales and drink. On the walls and battlements, guards diligently kept watch.  
  
Lord Saberon ran gloved fingers through his hair. He loved this city. He loved the beautiful, flowing river of humanity and even more, the corruption which thrived just beneath the surface. The peace which had been so hard won was now taken for granted - even by those who had fought for it. The people here now lied to and cheated with one another. The wealthy expanded their fortunes at the expense of the poor and the men in power happily stabbed one another in the dark.   
  
Edoras was no better. Nor were any of the other cities and townships throughout Middle Earth. Certainly there were worse places; places where there were no carefully groomed soldiers to clean up after the drunk and the destructive. Places where filth piled up in the corners and bodies lay abandoned between the ramshackle houses.  
  
Saberon smiled as he walked past a tangle of boys teasing a cat with a scrap of meat. No, such squalor was unbecoming of his power. The obvious evil of the dregs of humanity and the noisome depravity of the lesser races of orcs and goblins was below him. The irony lay in the fact that it was the fear induced servitude of those undesirables upon which he so heavily relied. As had Sauron before him.   
  
That Dark Lord had delighted in the disgusting, vile conditions his minions were subjected to. A quality Saberon had never found endearing in his former master. It was the insidious nature of Man, the way a mind and heart could be so easily swayed if given the right incentives which intrigued him. He made no secret of his great love for the pain of others; the grisly death of the elf in his dungeon the day before had brought him hours of pleasurable memories. Yet in no way did he condone the wretched and he would not long suffer the presence of the deformed and the stupid. It was his greatest joy to see the strong brought to their knees, to look him defiantly in the eye while they spilled the secrets of others – each word calculated to save their own skin. It was that paradox which fuelled his passion for domination.  
  
  
  
Sauron had been so caught up in his visions of grand domination and revenge that he had lost sight of the details. Obsessed with regaining his Ring, he had forsaken the strengths of common sense, diligence and patience. The truth be known, Sauron had been as sadly smitten by the power of the One Ring as had the pathetic creature known and Gollum.   
  
Saberon suffered no such delusions. His power came from cunning; his ability to bend the wills of others through word and deed to suit his own purpose. He also possessed the instincts of a hunter, often trusting to the feeling in his gut to tell him when to stalk, to wound or to rush in for the kill when the prey suspects nothing. But most of all, unlike his former master, Saberon did not believe himself invincible. He would never admit such a weakness yet he planned carefully for all contingencies, leaving nothing to chance or the judgement of others.  
  
  
  
He glanced over at his aide, a sharp young man with a level head and a lust for conquest. As they turned towards the gate, easily disguised as fur trappers, he laughed and threw an arm over his companions' shoulders. "Let's hurry home. I could use a mug of tea, and I am quite excited to find out how our traitor has fared. I expect the ravens will have made their way back by sundown."  
  
* * *   
  
Gimli watched Legolas struggle to his feet, stoically declining the helping hands which he and Elrond offered. The dwarf felt an unaccustomed lump in his throat as his friend tested how much weight could be trusted to his leg and hip and how much would have to depend on the cane. Gimli felt as if he were witnessing a child's first steps and he prayed that Legolas would not stumble, though his heart swelled in pride that such a strong and beautiful individual called him 'friend'. He took some comfort in knowing that the walking stick he had carved was strong and well balanced.  
  
Elrond had explained that the prince's long hike to Rivendell had been made out of sheer luck and stubborn determination, and that his arrival at the counsel had only been possible because of the drugs which had lingered in his system. Gimli did not doubt that it was as the Elf-lord said and so he waited with baited breath as Legolas made his way around the room.  
  
The prince had said nothing regarding his infirmity after the counsel, though his eyes would not meet another's when he was carried or otherwise assisted. It was not embarrassment which made him act so, but rather a deep frustration. It had been several generations of men since he had last been injured and it irked the normally easy-going Elf when he was unable to so much as dress himself without pain. Though when Thranduil had departed, Legolas had insisted on being helped to the courtyard. His pride and the pride of his unusual father did not lend itself well to weakness.  
  
"Well done! You'll be shootin' orcs again in no time!" Gimli exclaimed and smiled broadly when Legolas completed a circuit of the chamber. His face was slightly flushed with exertion, but he seemed to be in relatively little discomfort. Elrond had been steadily decreasing the prince's doses of numbing herbs over the past several days with no ill effects.  
  
Elrond clapped briefly. "Yes, well done." The Lord of Imladris said, before growing serious. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly and he caught and held Legolas' gaze. "I would make a bargain with you, Legolas."  
  
Uncertain what meaning those words might hold for him, the Elf-prince chose to say nothing. Elrond continued, taking Legolas' silence for acquiescence. "As you know, the twins and those other Elves who would make the journey to depart from these shores are set to leave in three days' time; December the seventh. If you fulfil my requirements," here he paused as if for dramatic effect, though he was actually using the moment to gauge Legolas' reaction, "I will let you accompany them also."  
  
Gimli nearly bit his tongue. That Elrond believed Legolas fit enough to travel he could hardly bring himself to accept. He didn't know if he should cry out in joy and relief, or else question the ancient elf's sanity. He settled for simply staring at the two and wishing that Erestor or Glorfindel were present to reason with them; for surely Legolas would not pass up such an opportunity.  
  
"And what would those requirements be, my Lord Elrond?" Legolas asked, suspicion flawlessly moderated.   
  
"Firstly you must follow my instructions as to your care - wholly and completely and without fuss or question. Secondly you must never tell your father," Elrond broke into a short laugh at the last, imagining the impotent rage which would consume Thranduil's should he ever find out.  
  
Legolas never hesitated and like a cat upon a mouse he pounced at his chance. "I accept your terms."  
  
Elrond nodded and sat, allowing the others to do so as well. "Very well, then. I had thought that might be the case."  
  
Gimli looked at Legolas then turned a critical eye to Elrond. "I do not mean t' question the judgement of the wise," he said, "but this seems like folly! Legolas has been attacked once already; with disastrous consequences! And now you would turn him out into the dead of winter while evil thirsts for the blood of the Fellowship?" he gestured to Legolas, careful to acknowledge his continued presence so as not to offend his sensibilities, now was not the time for that.  
  
  
  
Legolas placed a placating hand on his friend's forearm though he spoke earnestly. "Folly or not, I would rather not sit idly by like a fragile maid while my friends and my beloved make the most important journey of their immortal lives."  
  
  
  
"Aye, but…" Gimli trailed off.  
  
"And of course, you will be with me, will you not?" Legolas asked, feigning more patience than he felt. Granted, the situation was not ideal.   
  
  
  
Gimli's eyes narrowed for a moment, pretending to consider on the grounds of his disapproval. Yet he answered a little too quickly to be effective. "Aye. After all, someone 'as t' make certain that you don't get int' a tight spot." He cast Legolas a sidelong glance and muttered for good measure, "Crazy Elf!"  
  
* * *  
  
It was nearing midday when Aragorn finally got his men mobile. Of the seven who had survived, only four were able to sit a horse and one of those had to have his legs lashed to the girth. The three men who had been too badly hurt to ride were bundled up against the cold and placed on roughly hewn sleds. In all, ten horses remained to them; several had been killed and others had broken free from the picket line and disappeared into the forest. Among them was an older stallion who managed to collect the others and eventually led them to the rich pastures of the South Farthing in the Shire.   
  
Aragorn ranged ahead, searching for any signs of danger. By mid-afternoon he came upon the Road and turned due South with it; he dared not cross the mountains. Even with healthy men, the weather was such that he would not have taken that route again. The Road was safer, the various realms having pooled their resources to maintain and expand the thoroughfares of Middle Earth as colonies of Men and Dwarves began to travel and tame the land. It was his hope to find a homestead nearby where he might find aid.  
  
They stopped before sundown to camp on the side of the Road, and though exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, Aragorn kept watch alone. Throughout the night he puffed at his pipe and let his thoughts roam. He thought of Arwen in Gondor and he knew that she stood at her window, singing to the baby growing within her and listening to the stars. He worried that the Hobbits would be the enemy's next target. Legolas and Gimli were much on his mind also; he feared that the dwarf would have a difficulty keeping his friend from following Elrohir. But mostly he thought of Gandalf and keenly longed for the wizard's guidance, though he did not expect for him to step out of the shadows a few hours before dawn.   
  
"Gandalf!" Aragorn whispered, barely able to contain his excitement and relief. "I am glad you are here. I am in need of your aid."  
  
The White Wizard dismounted, shining like the pale moon overhead. "I can see that," he replied upon taking in the state of the sleeping soldiers. They had erected no tents, but lay huddled in canvas bedrolls and thick travel blankets. "I did not expect to meet you here, though I can guess at what happened. I have been moving swiftly and have learned much. I regret to say that our danger grows. Still, you had best tell me everything," Gandalf said, sitting down and lighting his pipe.  
  
* * *   
  
  
  
Legolas reclined alone in the Hall of Fire, reading and sipping a light golden wine. After Elrond sealed their bargain, Gimli had gone to speak with his party. The Lord of Imladris had extended his hospitality through the winter and the dwarves readily accepted the invitation to stay. Now his friend was busily writing letters of instructions for to provide for the unknown length of his absence.   
  
  
  
Legolas had not seen either of the twins since breakfast and though Erestor often came and went through the Hall on his way to other errands, he had otherwise been left to his own devices. It was nearing supper time when Elrohir entered and came to lean over the back of the plush bench on which he sat.   
  
  
  
"Father said you were able to walk on your own today," Elrohir grinned and his eyes glittered merrily in the firelight. "And he mentioned that you would have something important to tell me."  
  
  
  
Setting the book on his lap Legolas laughed and the sound rolled through the Hall like a bubbling spring in a cave. "I fear you may not believe me if I tell you," he said in all honesty.   
  
  
  
Elrohir's brows knit together. "Father seemed to be in a pleasant mood; I had assumed the news to be good. Why do you hesitate?"  
  
  
  
Legolas took Elrohir's right hand in both of his. "All is well. In fact, Elrond had released me into Gimli's care and I am going with you!" he laughed again at the expression which came over Elrohir's face. "Does this news please you?"  
  
  
  
"More than you know!" the dark-haired elf practically sang, coming around to sit on the floor. "But how can it be so? Are you not still wounded?"   
  
  
  
"Yes, and there are many rules to follow regarding that fact. Nevertheless Elrond agrees with me that my place is at your side," Legolas murmured, leaning down to slip his arms around Elrohir's neck. He pressed their foreheads together and their breath mingled, warm and sweet with the flavour of the wine, a gentle contrast to the wood-smoke rising from the hearth. For long moments they sat wordlessly, though their hearts whispered soul-deep secrets to one another.  
  
  
  
"I will not ask you to come with us over the sea, though I dearly wish you to, for I have learned that lesson the hard way. In the Havens there is no time even for those not bound by mortality. But for every day we are not together in body as well as spirit will be keenly felt. If ever you feel loving eyes upon you, know that they are mine. I will be watching you through the mirror of water and sighing my devotion to your heart from afar," Elrohir vowed quietly. "All of Arda is truly blessed so long as your fair feet walk upon this world."  
  
  
  
"Your words are as honey; though I shall never tire of their sweetness. Do not tempt me," Legolas begged. "I may forsake this place if you say any more."  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
See, that wasn't so bad, was it?   
  
  
  
Woah! Really long chapter, huh? And most of it was done over the last three days. I hope it didn't suck 'cuz I was exhausted the entire time and I hardly remember what I've written.  
  
  
  
Is it just me, or does anyone else feel that Saberon is a bit like Hitler? I actually intended it that way. There are few more calculatingly evil geniuses in history; and I've spent a lot of time studying that time period (I'm a bit of a nerd, I confess. Yay Discovery Channel!!). Besides, I don't know or want to guess at the thought processes of Osama and Saddam *shudder* scary men! 


	10. Chp X Visitors at Supper, Friends at Daw...

Guess what?! I finally downloaded AOL instant messenger! I would absolutely _love_ to hear from any of you 'in person' – I'm addicted to chatting and my computer is almost always on while I'm at home. My screen name is NekoMegamichan0 if you're interested. Also, while I'm feeling shameless – you can check out my artwork (it's not very good, honestly) at 

Thank you for the reviews on chapter nine and I really hope that you all get a kick out of chapter ten. This is where the actual plot gears up again! Yay! (Wow, my shortest drivel ever!)

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By NekoMegami_chan  
Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com

Chapter IX

Visitors at Supper, Friends at Dawn and The Road West

            Frodo was surprised when a knock sounded on his door. Such an occurrence was not uncommon of course, but the fact that it came during supper, a time when most respectable hobbits were gathered around their tables made the arrival of a visitor highly unusual. As the Ring Bearer excused himself from the table, his first thought was that it was Gandalf; the wizard always chose to appear at odd times. This idea cheered him greatly, for Bilbo was wintering with him in secret and to have all his dearest friends in his home at once was a wonderful prospect. 

Nevertheless, as he stooped to peer through the peephole, Frodo paused to consider the fact that it was danger which lay on the other side. His time in the wide world had changed him greatly and he was frequently suspicious of anything which seemed out of place. Cautiously he looked through the little glass lens in the door, but all he could see was a curious veil of green.

            When the knock came again it was accompanied by a lilting voice that could only belong to an Elf. "Master Frodo? Are you at home?"

            The hobbit promptly threw the latch and greeted his visitors (for there were indeed a whole host of the fair folk standing on his front porch) with a generous and welcoming smile. "My apologies, Master Elf; I was at supper. But never mind that now. Won't you please come in?"

            "Yes, please," the Elf replied, and gesturing to those behind him to wait outside, ducked into the house. He was not quite as tall as most of his people, and his sleek dark hair floated close around his narrow face in a way that reminded Frodo of a falcon or other hunting bird.

            Frodo led the way back to the dining room and drew up a chair for his guest, one of several he kept for when Big People came to visit. Bilbo set down his fork and wiped his mouth on a napkin before greeting the Elf, "Good day Valandil. What business brings you so far West of Rivendell?"

"There is danger brewing again in Middle Earth," he said simply, accepting a glass of wine from his host. "I have been sent from Imladris to offer you protection, Ring Bearer."

Bilbo interrupted, frowning. "Danger? But what danger could be so great that Elrond would send out such a warrior as yourself, and so many of your fellows?"

"You flatter me Master Bilbo. However," Valandil grew serious, turning again to Frodo. "We came quickly, hiding our weapons and disguised from the ever-watchful eyes under the guise of travelling into the West – though that is of little importance now. Much has happened lately that you are not aware of. I think that Gandalf would have liked to explain matters himself, but he has been called to his duties as the White wizard and could not come. Instead, I will tell you the story as I know it; it will not take long.

"At the beginning of the year Lord Elrohir, the younger twin son of Lord Elrond, sent out a letter by way of King Elessar's court to be delivered to Prince Legolas. The letter contained an invitation for the Prince to come to Imladris, though what it said exactly I do not guess as it is a private thing. The messenger finally located the Prince where he had been staying at a roadside inn, not two months ago. Master Gimli had parted company with Prince Legolas only the day before and thus he sent an affirmative reply ahead of him and left the next day. The messenger rode quickly as he had been bidden and delivered the Prince's letter within little over a fortnight.

"Prince Legolas rode the three days' journey to the foot of the Misty Mountains and turned his horse loose with directions to make the long trip around to the South. Now on foot, he began the passage of the Mountains, taking the most direct route in his eagerness to arrive at Imladris. He made good time, for the weather was in his favour, and in a mere week and a half had crossed to the near side of the mountains. At dusk, five days out from Rivendell he was attacked by orcs and wounded when the fight brought an avalanche. Though gravely hurt Prince Legolas managed to struggle onward," Valandil watched the hobbits' round faces grow troubled as he continued and he wished he could spare them this story and the reason for his arrival here. 

"Meanwhile, Lord Elrohir was growing concerned and when the Prince was several days later than expected, King Elessar and Master Gimli were notified by way of messenger birds. Luckily, the King was not far, having been abroad for purposes which are not known to me. Also, Master Gimli was in a position to come quickly as well. In Imladris, a search party was formed. The twins and Lord Elrond went in the company of Lord Glorfindel and with the grace of the Valar were able to find him, badly injured but alive."

"That is good," Bilbo said, his heart lightening some. "You had me very worried for a while there." Beside him, Frodo listened silently.

Valandil nodded, but did not stop his story. "Now we come to the real reason as to why I have been sent here. On their way to aid in the search for Prince Legolas, both King Elessar and Master Gimli were ambushed by orcs in the woods near Rivendell. And though both members of the Fellowship were unharmed, of the orcs there was no trace to be found afterward! A council was called by Lord Elrond and Gandalf arrived to attend it. It was discovered that all their recent correspondence had been interrupted and it was ruled that the three attacks were no mere consequence. Someone with a dark power seeks the blood of the Fellowship. And so I have come to protect you from harm."

"I do not wish to think what these ill tidings may bring; for all of Middle Earth. How is this possible? The One Ring was destroyed. I threw it into the very fires of Mount Doom!" said Frodo, distraught. 

"That also, I do not know," sighed Valandil. Then he smiled reassuringly. "Still, as I said earlier – Gandalf is abroad and perhaps all will come to naught. We must have hope." 

"Yes. It seems there is little to be done on my part; at least for the time-being. Only I do not have room for so many Elves under my roof! This is a modest home, even by Hobbit standards and I fear you would not be very comfortable."

Bilbo nodded and tapped his chin in thought. "Yes, quite a problem! Quite a problem indeed."

"Do not worry for us! If we might make use of your barn we would consider it more than adequate," suggested Valandil.

"Gracious no!" Frodo shook his head. "A barn is no place for a company of Elves!"

"Why not? It seems to be in good repair," the Elf captain maintained. 

 "I keep it so for when my friends come riding ponies. Alright," consented Frodo. "Though I still wish I could offer you better hospitality."

Valandil rose from his seat and bowed to the Ring Bearer. "I am happy to serve you Master Frodo. Think no more of it. If you will excuse me?"

"Of course," Frodo stood as well, though Bilbo apologized for not getting up with a wave of his palm. His knees were often sore in the colder months and he was more comfortable sitting at present. 

"I can show myself to the door. Only, one more thing if you please. I strongly recommend that you tell all your neighbours, as they will certainly be curious, that we are as I have said and only pilgrims to the West – staying the winter in your barn."

Frodo laughed, "They'll believe it! We Bagginses already have quite a reputation for being queer. No one will think anything of it!"

Valandil smiled in response and let himself out.

* * *

            The world was dark with sleep, so early was the hour in which Elrond woke and rose from his bed. The stars murmured an eternal lullaby to the land below. A thick mist rolled off of the Bruinen, spilling over its banks to pool in the valley. In the stables, horses dozed or ate. Silence reigned in Imladris now, both within and without. It was a time where even the memory-dreams of Elves were heavy and quiet. 

            Elrond made his way to Erestor's rooms, his heavy winter sleeping robes rustling softly. The clothes which had been laid out for him the night before were draped over one arm and his embroidered boots were tied by the laces to dangle around his neck. It might have thrown an unsuspecting Elf into shock to see the noble lord bedraggled and walking in stocking feet though the corridors before dawn. This was how Elrond Peredhil preferred to start his days. 

He paused in the hall in front of his advisor's door. On either side lamps burned steadily, reflected in the mirror-like surface of the polished floors like fairy lights. Beyond the mahogany portal he could hear Erestor and Glorfindel's hushed voices and the small sounds of plates being set out and drinks being poured. For Elrond, these were among the sounds that made Last Homely House his home.

Erestor's elegantly smiling face appeared a moment later. His midnight locks, usually straight and impeccably plaited were gathered messily atop his head, stray wisps framing cheeks the colour of fresh milk. He was barefoot and wore simple white breeches and a long shirt. There was little wonder why many young elf-maidens so desired him, though Erestor never returned their attentions. He was married to his duties, preferring service over more personal domestic pursuits. "You are tardy," he said as he had many times to the various members of Elrond's household. "We had thought that perhaps you might prefer to sleep away the small hours of the morning." Erestor added; ushering his lord into the room.

Elrond's reply to the gentle teasing died on his tongue. His favourite breakfast dishes were laid out on the table; soft boiled eggs and flaky meat pies, hot apple tarts, toast and honey were ringed by mugs of steaming cider. The large window on the east wall remained closed, but the draperies had been drawn aside in preparation for the coming dawn. A fire blazed merrily in the hearth, breathing warmth and fragrance into the room.   

Glorfindel leaned against the mantle and his golden tresses were free to his waist, falling like sunlight on the forest green of his tunic. To Elrond's eyes the Eldar always shone brightly with a power which was not limited to physical dimensions; yet the otherworldliness of him was almost tangible when Glorfindel began to sing. His voice lifted in a whimsical tune as Erestor removed the boots and day clothes from Elrond's arms.

Amongst the many stars

Once there lay

Three shining souls

Three hearts at play  
  


Yet far below 

 The child of Galadriel did pray

And the Valar sent down

Two souls to stay

Like lively Sparrows 

To Arda they came

Bringing sweet joy

And love without shame

All was well, for a time

'Til it became plain

All missed the one

Which above did remain

Again a prayer

This from the Son of the Star

And the third soul descended

To parent's loving arm

For many seasons

Five hearts were one

Still for each

A separate path is spun

The Child of Galadriel

Found peace on a distant shore

And the granddaughter of the stars

Set aside immortality forevermore

\

And now the Sparrows

To Eagles grown

And now take flight

To leave their home

And though they go

May your heart be yet merry

Good Elrond, Son of the Star

Do not long tarry!

            "I will hold that song dear to me and count it among my favourite gifts," Elrond praised. "And may the Valar indeed speed my work in this world. Now let us eat this beautiful meal ere it grows cold with waiting!" With that the three Elves sat down to what promised to be their last breakfast together for quite some time, and spoke only of fond memories.

* * *

            It was nearing ten o'clock in the morning by the time that the last of the pack horses had been loaded. Travelling with Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas and Gimli were seven others, including two married couples. In all, nearly fifty Elves and dwarves had gathered in the courtyard of Imladris to see them off. Though farewells were being exchanged, an air of holiday had settled over the valley.

Elrond climbed onto a bench to address the crowd. The winter sun cast a gentle radiance on the Lord of the Last Homely House as he greeted his people. Not wanting to draw out the hour, he continued directly to the point. "I wish you a safe journey. To those of you who will not be returning, I would ask you to watch for the arrival of the Grey Ships with every tide so as to welcome all who follow. The thoughts of us which yet choose to remain go with you." A round of polite applause broke out and many an eye was moist. "Elrohir, Legolas – please step forward," Elrond said when the noise had died down.

The crowd parted to let them pass. Elrohir walked slowly over the snow, keeping step with Legolas, whose cane only added to his princely bearing. Together they came to stand before the Lord of Imladris. Elrond's clear voice rang through the courtyard, "No ceremony is necessary for Elves to wed. When two immortal hearts are joined no witnesses are needed because any who thereafter see them will be witness to their love for one another. Yet here are two who desire to be so bonded; Elrohir Preredhil and Legolas Thranduilion. Would you now publicly make the commitment that your hearts have already prepared to make?" 

Legolas turned his head to meet Elrohir's gaze. They had not expressly talked about this since before the War of the Ring. Their thoughts mingled and raced. Both knew that this was not logically the most opportune time; danger lurked behind every stone and they would be parted in a matter of weeks. Yet no reason of the mind could overshadow the reason of the heart. Instantly they were of an accord and at that moment they became one in spirit. "We are," Elrohir and Legolas said as with a single voice.

He took their right hands and his. "I give you my blessing, my sons." 

Erestor and Elladan came forward to place pale flowers from Imladris' greenhouses on Legolas' and Elrohir's hair. Glorfindel presented them with Arod and the grey horse arched his neck nobly while Elrohir lifted Legolas into the saddle and climbed on behind him. 

Gimli coughed and pretended to smooth his thick brows. All around Elves danced merrily and the dwarves were back to back as if expecting the questionably sane immortals to attack them. One stout dwarf with a grey beard cast a sidelong glance at Gimli who stood apart from them. "You spend time with these creatures voluntarily?" Ere Gimli could reply he was accosted by laughing Elves and lifted onto a horse. The beast moved forward of its own volition and it was all he could do to hold on.

With a final round of farewells, Erestor mounted and rode to the head of the column and led them out of the valley. Though the sound of Elven voices still filtered through the trees, Legolas leaned back into Elrohir's shoulder and sang: 
    
    The Road goes ever on and on
    
    Down from the door where it began.
    
    Now far ahead the Road has gone,
    
    And I must follow, if I can,
    
    Pursuing it with eager feet,
    
    Until it joins some larger way
    
    Where many paths and errands meet.
    
    And whither then? I cannot say.*

* * *

Sorry things took so long! Holidays and exams and my horses all conspired to use up most of my writing time the last few weeks. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I can't wait until the next one!

* This of course belongs to J.R.R Tolkien. I claim Glorfindel's song though, that one's mine!


	11. Chp XI The Road Goes Ever On

The holidays are over. I spent time visiting family, having adventures, and working. Then school started up again and was _that_ was an exercise in bureaucracy.  However, with all that I've done lately – none of it included much writing. Sorry. But now that school is back in swing I intend to start writing regularly again. So please sit back and enjoy!

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By NekoMegami_chan

Chapter XI

The Road Goes Ever On

            Aragorn had not intended to sleep. Though he and Gandalf had spoken well into the early hours of the morning, he could not recall having seen the first lights of dawn touch the eastern horizon. It was possible that during his years as king, though they yet numbered few; had caused him to grow soft. However, Aragorn highly suspected friendly sorcery, especially as Gandalf himself was no where to be seen. 

            It was nearing midmorning and the king's men were dutifully tending one another beneath the sheltering trees. Danor had built a fire to heat water for washing wounds and making oatmeal. Aragorn rose and made a circuit of the camp, speaking briefly with each of his remaining soldiers and using his power as a healer where possible. All of the injured soldiers seemed stronger and none showed signs of infection, much to his relief. 

An hour later Aragorn was seated by the fire, eating a much-needed hot meal. They had lost most of their supplies in the attack, and there was little game left to be had this late in the season. It weighed heavily upon his heart that he had not foreseen that Tanir's betrayal and that his men had died for his inattention. And now he worried that even with Gandalf's aid his brave soldiers would be forced to suffer both hunger and cold as well.

Aragorn's dark thoughts were interrupted when a low voice called to him. "My Lord? Would you be interested in a second helping?" He blinked, suddenly aware that he had been staring at his empty bowl for some time. He shook his head, dark and shaggy hair floating around his unshaven face. "No, my friend. I have had my fill." The King of Gondor paused then flashed his captain a roguish grin. "You have done well, Danor. And I thank you for taking charge while I rested this morning, though I assure you it was not my intent."

The man bowed his head, smiling. "I was honoured to relieve you, my Lord," he replied sincerely. Feeling that he would be allowed to freely speak his mind he continued, "You are a strong man, a warrior, a hero, a king; but a man nonetheless. Yet you're a man I would serve unto death. I only wish that I would not have endangered you. Tanir was my charge and if I had only been stricter with discipline…"

Aragon met Danor's eyes. "There was no help for it," he said, and in that moment came to terms with his own guilt. 

Before Danor could find the words to reply, the distinct sound of an approaching rider could be heard from the road. Aragorn stood, his right hand curling around the hilt of his sword. Gandalf appeared around a bend, his bright essence preceding him. The white wizard hailed them and dismounted; coming to warm his hands by the fire and accepting a cup of strong tea from Danor with a thin-lipped smile. He wasted little time in passing on his news. "I have found a small cluster of farms, not large enough to be called a village. The men which live there are a good and simple people. They have agreed to care for your injured until they are well enough to return home," he said without preamble. Gandalf sipped his tea and cast a pale, questioning eye at Aragorn. "Will you come with me? I have caught word that trouble is brewing in Gondor, just south of Minas Tirith."

"It will take us months to reach the city, even hale and healthy!" Aragorn said, his voice taught. His thought at once of Arwen and the burden of command which would fall on her fair shoulders with danger falling upon the land. Though he believed his dear wife to be capable, that she should be forced to bear the burden alone troubled him.

Gandalf placed a comforting hand on the Dunedan's shoulder. "We will move swiftly," the wizard smiled, "you know that I have my ways. But you must leave your men behind. We will depart as soon as you have gathered your things."

"Aye," Aragorn was quick to reply. "Danor, they are in your care. I will miss your level head and steady sword by my side. Come as quickly as you are able, friend. I fear there will be much need for your skills."

"Yes, my king," the grizzled captain replied. 

Gandalf nodded approvingly and gave directions to the squatter's farms while Aragorn quickly gathered his bedroll and a small portion of the regiment's rations. In minutes all was ready and plans were set. Securing his weapons, Aragorn mounted his horse to ride alongside the white wizard and together they travelled east toward Gondor.

* * *

            With the departure of the Elves into the west, the lands were no longer tame and well tended. Narrow game trails cut through the heavy undergrowth and wandered between trees often dead-ending or turning back on themselves for miles. Yet the road to the Ford of Bruinen remained broad and clear. Soft, dry snow drifted down through the pine needles overhead. Small animals shifted in their winter dens and far off an eagle cried out to the land below. The horses' breath billowed and curled from their nostrils like dragon smoke and their hooves crunched over the frozen ground. 

            The party from Imladris had moved at a steady pace for much of the day, stopping only briefly every few hours to dismount and stretch their limbs. Erestor had kept them close to the trees once they left the valley and Elladan often ranged ahead. Despite the air of a holiday in the countryside, the threat of an orc attack could not be dismissed. Yet many stories were told as they went, most of them by Gimli. 

            The elves were fascinated by the mortal paradox before them; a gentle, if gruff dwarf with respect for their ways was endlessly entertaining. For hours the elves asked to hear the tales of the dwarves, deeply interested in Gimli's telling of events both familiar and unknown to them. Occasionally Erestor, who was the eldest of the group by millennia and a dedicated scholar, would chuckle to himself. A large portion of the tales either began or ended with the simple truth that the omitted details were "unknown to mortals" or had "long passed out of understanding."

            Legolas had heard a good portion of these stories over the past few years and listened with one ear. The other habitually remained alert to danger. His heart was another matter entirely. Elrohir's strong arms encircled him, holding the horse's reins as they rode, and the other elf's warm breath moved against his cheek, stirring the blond locks there. Though he could not see Elrohir's fair face, Legolas could feel the loving eyes upon him and often whispered gentle words of affection. The prince savoured every moment. "Your father is an amazing individual, Elrohir. He officially adopted me and blessed our union publicly, all with no warning and yet with a perfect understanding of our hearts. It has been nearly four years since last we spoke of making our commitment eternal, though I know now that it was thus long before we ever voiced such thoughts." 

            "I completely agree," Elrohir replied and breathed in the scent of Legolas, a sweet and spicy smell like freshly ground cinnamon. "I am still amazed," he said slowly, "that you so quickly forgave me my transgressions against you; though strangely enough I have no trouble accepting that you have. It is your nature to be kind and generous. And while your strength of character has been tempered as fine as any Mithril blade by battle and hardship, there is no sign of the heavy hand and sharp eyes of Thranduil to be seen in you."

            Legolas grew sober and twisted slightly to meet Elrohir's gaze, and the prince's blue eyes spoke words no mouth could say.

            That evening they arrived in a bower of elvish make. Nestled between the mighty pines were comfortable shelters, invisible to mortal eyes which commonly could not see the forest for the trees. In the bowl-shaped clearing were gentle mounds on which a body might recline during a meal and several fire pits, ringed with smooth stones which had fused together in places from centuries of use. Hidden in the branches at shoulder height were green wax candles to brighten night-time festivities. Yet there was snow in crisp white drifts and the underbrush which ringed the outdoor hall was withered and brittle with winter. There were now too few to maintain the once perpetual spring of this place, a fact that was not lost on the minds of the party from Rivendell, though the knowledge held only the barest tint of bittersweet regret.

            Gimli was the first to touch solid ground. After an entire day atop a crazy four-legged beast it was a welcome thing to stand on good soil again. He was also quick to lend Legolas a supporting shoulder when the elf slid down from Arod's back, his bad leg crumpling, weak from having gone unused for so many hours. Elrohir surreptitiously squeezed the prince's hand before leading the horses away and trusting Gimli to fuss over Legolas and settle him in. 

            They stayed awake long into the night, eating and drinking and enjoying one another's company before retiring to the shelters beneath the trees. A watch was set and the fires banked and it seemed to Elladan as he silently patrolled their camp's perimeter, that his last weeks on Arda could bring him nothing but joy. 

* * *

            It was a grey and cheerless morning in late December. Fog hung low over the snow covered ground and shaggy deer roamed through the meadow which sloped down toward the frozen Bradywine in the distance. With the onset of the winter frost Sam had been dividing his time between his budding family; of which he considered Mr. Frodo a part, and caring for Bill. The old pony had found a new life and a new youth under Sam's patient hand. When the weather was good they might ride for an hour at dawn or dusk and listen to the gentle breathing of the world.

            Today however, Sam carried a bucket of steaming bran and hops as he walked down to the barn. But as he drew near, Sam grew suspicious. His sharp ears picked up the sounds of movement coming from inside the squat brick building. Even as he watched, smoke began to curl out of the forge chimney. Still carrying the bucket, intending to use it as a weapon if need be, he crept around the barn to peer over the windowsill. What he saw sent him running back up the hill to his master's house.  
  


* * *

            Bilbo snored in his room down the hall as Frodo rose and began his day. He kept no servants save for Sam who tended his gardens and to some extent, Rosie who often complained of Frodo's thinness as she cooked and never seemed to tire of tidying up. 

So it was that every morning Frodo dressed, ate breakfast and retired to the small room where he spent most of his day. Sheets and sheets of parchment detailing his own adventures as well as the accounts of his friends and companions were bound by pins or string and spread haphazardly on several shelves. For over a year, Frodo had edited and re-edited his notes before finally recording them in a large, red-leather bound book. It was more than half-finished now and though he had no idea how, he had the feeling that the end of his book would signal the ending of his time in Hobbiton. 

            Frodo was suddenly ripped from his ambiguous musings when Sam burst into his study with a shout. The gardener's blonde curls clung to his face and he was breathing quickly as if he had run hard. Strangely his round face was alight with a grin that belied his haste. "Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed, "Mr. Frodo, there's _elves_ in the barn! _Elves_!"

            For a moment Frodo simply continued to stare and his friend. Then a slow smile tugged at his lips and he laughed, leaving his chair to embrace Sam. "Dear Sam!" he said. "Only elves have the power to get you so excited. Yes, I know that they are here. They arrived just yesterday afternoon – while you were in town," Frodo added upon seeing the hurt in the other hobbit's eyes. 

            "That's good to know! But why are they here, I wonder? And how long do they plan to stay?" Sam asked, the same questions that had plagued him on his way up to the house. 

            Frodo shook his head and the old wound of the Nazgúl throbbed dully in his shoulder. "Elrond and Gandalf sent them. They are warriors from Rivendell and Valandil is their leader. Evil is rising anew and they fear for us."

            Sam's face fell, his joy at seeing the elves suddenly crushed beneath the familiar weight of worry. "What of the others?"

            "Merry and Pippin are in Gondor and safe as far as I know, but much has befallen our other friends. Come, let's go down and speak with Valandil. He can explain better than I can." Frodo conceded while penning a quick note to explain their absence to his uncle, should Bilbo awake before they returned. 

* * * 

            Aragorn flexed numb and muddy fingers which had grown stiff around the reins. He was cold and exhausted, yet pressed on without complaint, following the wizard's lead. He was used to the discomfort of the road, his years as Strider had accustomed him to hardship and travel. Yet the past few months he had pushed himself hard and it was beginning to tell. The healthy fleshiness he had developed in his two years as the king of Gondor had faded back into his old gauntness. His neatly trimmed beard was once again grey-flecked stubble. Yet his hawk-like eyes remained keen and searched ahead as they rode, seeking out all possible dangers. 

            Conversation had been sparse over the last three days since Gandalf and Aragorn had parted company from the Gondorian soldiers. When they did speak, it was mostly concerned with speculation on the enemy's next move. Aragorn had the feeling that unlike the last war, where stealth and courage had made all the difference, this conflict could only be won through careful strategy and the utmost speed. 

            At the end of the fourth day, Gandalf turned Shadowfax off the road with a murmured word. He dismounted, cleared his throat then raised his staff and spoke words of power. The trees shimmered and parted as if bent by an impossibly strong wind to reveal the passageway beyond. The sylvan tunnel was made entirely of leaf-bare trees grown so close together that the branches were woven together like a basket and the path below remained free of snow and ice. 

            "Though I may live to see two hundred years, I do not think that I shall ever come to see the limit of your knowledge or skill old friend," Aragorn said sincerely.

            "This is a tool, no more," Gandalf replied succinctly. "After the danger of the mines and the impassable mountains I knew that we would one day have need of another route to speed safe travel between the kingdoms. Let us hope that we will not have to use this passage again." He sighed as Aragorn slid from his mount's back and stretched long legs slightly bowed from the saddle. "We should rest now, and tomorrow continue with what haste and comfort are hereby provided." 

            Aragorn smiled wearily. They would have a fire tonight, and perhaps some stories to accompany the fine weed of the Shire which hung heavy in the oilcloth at his hip. It was almost enough to put him at ease.

* * *

            Saberon was outwardly calm when the large black crows which served him delivered their news. Yet inside he raged and even the flagstones of the courtyard below his feet seemed to wither in the icy heat of his wrath.

All the members of the Fellowship of the Ring still drew breath. Time and resources had both been lost. He was not a hasty man, but neither did he have time to waste repeating failed objectives. With a sharp reprimand he sent the crows scattering and dismissed his men as well before retreating to the privacy of his study. 

Sauron had bided his time, waited for the Halflings and his damned ring to show up on the threshold of his accursed mountain. Bodiless, it had been all he could do to send out his twisted minions. Saberon however was hale, powerful, and most of all - mobile. Though he had not intended to play this card so early in the game, he quickly came to the conclusion that the only one truly capable of destroying the fellowship was himself. He would have to confront them himself, one by one.

* * *

Sorry this chapter wasn't very good! Does it seem a bit disjointed to you, what with all the scene changes? I was going for an effect of things quickening, getting a bit more exciting (in an action sense) again. Now that I'm back in the habit, look for more updates again soon. Also, I've been waiting on a new beta reader. Hopefully she'll get back to me soon! Thanks for reading everyone!


	12. Chp XI In Which Elves Make Merry and A P...

Thank you all so much for your support! And don't worry, this fic is far from dead – it's just crawling along a few paragraphs at a time.

On the West Wind Sails the Gull

By Nekomegamichan

Nekomegamichanhotmail.com

Chapter XII

Frodo and Sam spent much of the morning in the barn, even forgoing second breakfast in favour of their elvish company. After the unpleasantness of the day before, the merry voices and graceful moments of the fair folk were much appreciated. Songs were sung and tales told and Sam curried his pony while listening to it all with a rapt smile on his broad face. The magical presence of the elves had not faded by the length of his association and the gardener never passed up an opportunity for conversation with an elf.

Across the barn, Frodo was more subdued. He smiled politely and accepted the elves' thanks and congratulations for his role as the Ring Bearer. Several offered him small and precious gifts. Yet the evils that had befallen the other members of the Fellowship weighed on him and the ache in his old wound continued as it had for days, though now he knew the reason why. Evil lurked in Middle Earth again. Frodo honestly had no desire to leave his home or the quiet life he had so painstakingly recreated, as superficial as it was. Though if Gandalf or one of the members of the council requested his aid he would go; he could not abandon his friends if they had need of him.

Rosie and Blibo joined them at noon, bringing down baskets laden with fresh bread, fruit preserves and the best butter, cheese and ham Frodo's larder had to offer. Sam hugged his blushing wife and introduced her to the elves, pronouncing each name perfectly much to their delight.

Small patrols came and went, roaming the edges of the Shire on swift and silent feet. None had anything out of the ordinary to report, though Captain Valandil respectfully related each patrol's findings to Frodo. All seemed well in the Shire, yet there was an underlying tenseness in the air which could not be allayed.

The hobbits finally left the barn an hour before sundown, and from the branches of a nearby tree, a small flock of crows with gleaming, black button eyes watched and laughed throatily.

Aragorn clamped his pipe between his teeth, the wooden stem worn and scored with use. He was still in the saddle and the white smoke streamed out, a mirror plume to his mount's breath in the cold winter air. His grey-flecked hair hung in lank ringlets down his neck, tickling just inside the collar of his heavy coat. A cloak with a mud-stained edge rippled out from the clasp at his throat to lie over the horse's rump.

Sound was muted in the enchanted sylvan path. There were no birds, no rabbits - no animate life of any kind. It was an atmosphere which practically leant itself to quiet contemplation; words seemed swallowed by the oppressive quiet. There was no sense of time, the thickly interlaced branches blocking out the weak winter sun and casting the tunnel below into a perpetual twilight.

Yet Aragorn hardly spared a thought for the path they travelled or the wizard riding beside him; both seemed to brood as heavily as he. Strategies, possibilities and consequences ruminated in his mind, tumbling over each other with the futile regularity of a water wheel. Faces and alliances spiralled past as he tried to reason out the identity of the Fellowship's mysterious aggressor. Plans of action to deal with the traitor were examined from every angle, found lacking and discarded. There were too many variables, to many unknowns for his comfort. Aragorn sucked on his pipe and worried.

Gandalf's lean frame swung gently with the rhythm of Shadowfax's gait. Determined to conserve his energies, he let his eyes slide shut and temporarily shortened the reach and breadth of his senses. He took a moment to wonder how Legolas and Elrohir were getting on. When he had left Imladris the Greenwood prince had seemed past danger, but something tugged at the corner of his wizard's intuition. Gandalf was not entirely convinced that Elrond and Thranduil's sons could be trusted to behave, a feeling that was amply justified by past experience.

Beside him, Aragorn nudged his horse into a trot and the leggy creature's long stride ate up the distance like a hungry hobbit eats bacon. Shadowfax caught up easily and the wizard on his back finally broke the silence. "We will spend the night in the safety of the path, but come morning we must brave the dangers of the wider world once more. Things are moving fast Aragorn; this enemy is at once both subtle and direct. We do not know his name nor his nature, though he knows ours. He is respectful of our powers as he perceives them, that much is obvious by the way he has harried us, attacking through treachery to cause doubt and keep us off balance."

Aragorn sighed around his pipe stem. "With all due respect, Gandalf old friend, speculating is getting us nowhere and you know it as well as I."

The wizard chuckled, his thin lips curling up and his eyes twinkling with the mysterious power of the Maia.

Light flooded the protected clearing, dancing along the reclining bodies of elves and a slightly inebriated dwarf. Wine was mulled over the central campfire and poured liberally into pewter mugs. The remnants of a rich stew sweetened with herbs and potatoes sat in the warm ash, waiting to be packed away and served again the next evening. The notes of a reed pipe drifted over the weary travellers and quiet words were exchanged as evening stretched into night.

Legolas was supported by a small mound of cloaks with his saddle at their centre, a thick blanket tucked around him. Though he had not mentioned it to anyone, the day's ride and the constant exposure to the cold that so rarely affected elven kind had left him stiff and more than a little pained. Elrohir suspected but said nothing as he quietly saw to his beloved's needs. Their happiness was like a river which gently overflowed it banks to touch those around them and Legolas' discomfort was drowned beneath it.

Beside the fire, Elladan sang songs in praise of the sea he had never seen and of the fair lands beyond. After a round of applause the twin sat and gestured to Gimli, "Master Dwarf, if your tongue is not too tired, pray tell us a story of high adventure!"

"Delighted to, Master Elladan. Not since I last saw the hobbits have I been asked for so many tales. Though I do admit I enjoy it!" Gimli replied. He was in a fine humour that the wine had relatively little to do with. It was hard to believe that just weeks before he had lost dear friends in a bloody orc ambush, or that Legolas had lain perilously close to the edge of his immortal life. All the evils of the world seemed pale and insubstantial, like the glimpse of a horror through a veil of fog. And the distortions of time and good company were a soothing balm.

"Enjoy it? I'm sure that you do, friend Gimli. For there was never a dwarf born that did not like to hear himself speak!" came Legolas' good natured barb.

Gimli pushed himself to his feet, for once head and shoulders above Legolas. "And never was there born an elf who could pass a tree without embracing it like a mad man." No sooner had the last word gone past his lips than Gimli froze in place. His bright eyes darted around the campfire and a party of elven faces smiled back at him. He bowed hastily, bending nearly double, "I beg your pardon good sirs and ladies! I meant no offence!"

Elladan leaned back on his elbows, "Think nothing of it! You are elf-friend Master Gimli and I daresay no one here is offended by your banter with the Prince. Rather, we find it most amusing."

Elrohir nodded, "Aye! And it can't hurt to keep Legolas' wit sharp," he smirked playfully, "especially when the touch of old logs can dull a fine blade - if you take my meaning."

Even Erestor, ever the diplomat was forced to smile behind his wine cup. When he had himself under control once more, he called for order. "Here now! The fire burns low and we would all listen to Master Gimli's story ere we retire for the night." Erestor gestured to the dwarf, though the set of his eyes and mouth reminded Gimli of his childhood nurse, counselling him to mind he did not take too long.

Nevertheless Gimli stood, his pipe in one hand and smoke curling up towards the stars and collected his thoughts. "When I was little more than a lad," he began, "my father, Glôin went on a fabulous quest in the company of his kinfolk, a great wizard, and an unusually adventurous hobbit. During the course of their journey they encountered and more or less overcame many obstacles. One of them involved the stone palace of a woodland king of elves and a number of wine barrels…"

When the tale was finished, Legolas' bright laughter cut through the murmurs, inciting more golden peals from the others. The very thought of Bilbo's party of Dwarves escaping, floating down a night cloaked river was almost too humorous to believe. It had been quite a colourful recounting of Glôin's escape in a wine barrel from Thranduil's palace. And though he had heard many versions told of it, Legolas loved Gimli's tellings most of all, for they became more embellished with every repetition; not even old Bilbo's skill with words could match it. Yet the prince keenly remembered the expression on his sire's face when he realized his loss. To this very day barrels of all kinds were inspected by guards whenever prisoners were kept.

When the laughter had died down, Erestor stood and clapped his hands once to draw the party's attention. "It is nearing the midnight hour," he announced with the authority of an elder and an officer of Elrond's house. "Though I am sure we would all be quite happy to wile away the early hours until dawn, lost in drink and pleasant conversation, I suggest that we take some rest in the bowers yonder else we find ourselves tarrying in this gentle place too long."

The elves nodded their assent and stood, separating to claim the private, leafy shelters perched between the massive roots of the trees which protected their age-old camp. All knew how easy it would be to stay for days, enjoying the perpetual spring the ancient magic of the elves brought to such places – a magic which would fade a little more with their passing. Yet their hearts were not saddened and the knowledge only deepened their longing for the undying lands across the sea.

Elrohir gathered up their things and set them in order for their departure in the morning. He was sorely tempted to simply scoop Legolas up and carry him to the bower that would be their marriage bed, an image which made him giddy with desire. It was only in difference to both of their steadfast pride that he did not make such a public scene, and instead settled for helping Legolas to his feet.

"Sleep well, elf," Gimli yawned, waving in Legolas' direction and only belatedly remembering his friend's dark haired mate. "Good eve to you also, Master Elrohir," he added hastily.

"And to you, Master dwarf," Elrohir replied with a smile and a slight inclination of his head. Though he had known Gimli for only a short time, he would always remember the dwarf fondly. As he accompanied his newly bonded lover to their bower, he made a silent entreaty to the Valar,_ may Gimli's mortal life be full and prosperous for many years hence, though I shall miss my dear Legolas who must remain as long as the dwarf lives. _

Saberon was sitting in his study, penning out orders for his commanders when the crows arrived. The flock representatives clustered around the window, cackling their news. They were only half alive; creatures created by the ring long ago and forced to serve Sauron's evil will for eternity. Dried blood painted grey nails and clung to the matted feathers, dull black even in the shimmering moonlight.

Saberon did not look up form his missive while the crows finished their report. "Well done. You are dismissed." Events in the outside world were progressing as planned - with one exception, the White Wizard and the King of Gondor had disappeared onto an impenetrable woodland path and there was no telling where they might emerge. Though extremely concerned with having lost the wizard, everything else was moving was as he had foreseen – the elves had sent guards to watch over Baggins and his servant, effectively trapping them in the Shire. The "council of the wise" had foolishly believed a single contingent of warrior elves would be enough to deter any attacks. Or perhaps the intention was for the elves to act as a diversion while the hobbits were spirited away. The very thought was amusing and Saberon could not suppress a smile at the eldar's arrogant ignorance.

The wounded prince of Mirkwood had been unable to remain behind at Imladris, choosing to travel with his lover towards the havens. Though the dwarf had escaped once, he would not be so lucky a second time. It would be painfully easy to dispose of the entire party in the middle of the wilderness, far from help and with only a handful of trained swordsmen among them. The twin sons of Elrond would be sweet trophies to hang in his dungeons and controlling them would place their powerful father and even more powerful grandparents at his mercy. He would take their rings of power and give their land to his followers.

The other two hobbits were walled away in Minas Tirith for the winter, but Saberon fully intended for the White City to fall to his hand before they were once again mobile enough to cause him much trouble. And when proud capital of Gondor was his, Elessar's beautiful wife would be slaughtered in front of her people.

His thoughts once again in order, Saberon bent to review the last of the orders he had written.

_"Commander Janum,_

_ "I will arrive at the end of the week to oversee the ceremonies for which I must be present, as planned. Make sure that the sacrifices are of the highest quality. The power I require must be generated entirely without fault. Spare no expense and select only your most trustworthy men. The forging of such an item of power must not be taken lightly. Please know your life and indeed your soul are forfeit should you disappoint me."_

Saberon did not sign the missive but sealed it with fine black wax, stamping his insignia, the word for 'lord' in the dark tongue of Mordor, into the cooling ebony puddle.

Their love was reaffirmed with each touch of skin on skin.

Legolas and Elrohir lay in a bed of fine wool blankets, silk sheets and down filled satin pillows. The fragrant bows of an enchanted pine and feathery fern sheltered them from the winter chill which lurked outside. The ancient bower was as warm as a fox's den from the heat of their bodies and nothing could threaten to break the spell they had woven around themselves. The darkness shimmered iridescently with the combined life forces of the elves, a silvery glow which was like two stars kissing in the night sky.

The prince lay on his back, his forget-me-not coloured eyes gazing into the Noldo's soft brown ones. "Elrohir, my dearest, how radiant you are!" Legolas breathed ere his lips were otherwise engaged once again.

The dark haired elf acknowledged the sincere compliment with his heart while his fingertips played over his new mate's creamy skin. Though at first glance one might mistake it for perfection, there were tiny flaws, pale scars that crisscrossed the planes of Legolas' well muscled body – a testament to the prince's hard life as a warrior and champion of his people. Several of the scars were more fresh, still pink and healing. These Elrohir kissed, soothing away the underlying hurts which lingered there.

Legolas gasped; a sound of pleasure which bore no resemblance to that which a maiden might make. He and Elrohir were equals and while he occupied the bottom position there was no loss of power or control, for such things were not perceived between them. Love and desire had swept them both away with the force of the ocean tides towards which they travelled and neither sought to pull themselves to shore.

Long moments passed as breath and bodies mingled. Endearments were exchanged and innocent remarks about a prowess that had nothing to do with sword or bow only added to the heated flush on each fair face. Passion flowed like wine though it did nothing to quench their thirst for one another.

Elrohir's body sang with pleasure as he finally found completion and Legolas crossed that bridge shortly after to join his lover on the other side. When it was over they lay together in the dark, trembling in the aftermath and content to rest in a close embrace.

The dark haired elf stroked Legolas' soft flaxen locks, gently combing out the tangles that their love had put there. His thoughts slowly changed course and he found himself contemplating his impending separation from his beloved and from there, the reason for that separation. "How is it that you so easily keep the company of mortals? Every moment I spend with Estel I am reminded of the limits of his human body, and now I see the same mortal fire in my sister's eyes. It pains me to know that their bodies will die and I will never speak to their souls once those finite shells have fallen into dust."

Legolas was slow to reply. He honestly searched his motivations before verbalizing an answer. "Centuries ago, before my first real dealings with mortals, I gave no thought to eternity. Now even as our time here wanes, the world is quickening around us. The younger races blossom over the land. I have come to love them, perhaps in spite of their short lives – they fascinate me. They have taught me to feel the passing of time in a way that no other experience has ever done. I become aware that eternity is both finite and infinite. Alone I may have despaired of it, but now I cannot wait to spend it with you."

With a merry laugh, Elrohir kissed his Legolas' brow. "You are a silly woodland creature, given to roaming the forests and defending those you hold dear. And yet you speak with the golden tongue of the very wise and the golden heart of a devoted lover. Never shall I grow weary of your company and still I envy your mortal companions every moment of it!"

"It is you who is a silly creature and everyone knows that envy is a human emotion. It must be your father's blood which causes you to speak so. Now, let us sleep. The morn is almost upon us now and though our journey has been without incident we have many leagues left to go and perhaps we will have need of our strength. I for one will sleep most soundly in your arms."

"And I in yours. Sweet dreams sweet prince."

Hello all! So sorry for the long time between updates – I really hope at least some of you are still interested. I really was working on this little by little over the long hiatus, but real life just kept getting in the way. Also I was attempting to get several other stories started in various fandoms, though none have gotten much past the plot bunny and blurb stages.

Otherwise – how was it? I've never written a sex scene before and while this one wasn't explicit (I don't feel that something more graphic would do the characters justice and would simply be outside the set writing style for the story) I think it's still pretty hot. I'm actually a virgin myself (and a girl, and straight, and I've never seen a porno movie) so I'm really no expert on the subject. I'm going to attempt to write a more graphic scene in an upcoming Gensomaden Saiyuki fanfic to be posted on adultfanfiction.net and if anyone is interested in giving me their opinions on what you do and don't like in a sex scene for future reference please drop me a line. Thanks!


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